Harry Potter and the Black Hearted Auror
by Darth Cious
Summary: AU of HBP. After losing his Godfather and promising to think before he acts, Harry receives a letter from the new Minister of Magic with an intriguing proposal, he gains a new ally and begins doubting an old one. Independent!Harry Realistic!Honks
1. The Three Letters

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and his world are the intellectual property of the wonderful Mrs. J.K. Rowling, and she has my eternal thanks, both for all the joy she has provided me and the permission she's given her fans to play with her toys.

**Dedication:** For Sherry. Always for Sherry.

**Harry Potter and the Black Hearted Auror**

**Chapter One: Three Letters**

- - - - - - - - - - - -

**_Mr. Harry Potter,_**

**_As you are no doubt aware, at least in part due to your actions this Spring as well as the escalating war situation, Cornelius Fudge has resigned his place as Minister of Magic. Having been appointed in his place, I have come to this esteemed office with two very simple, and non-negotiable goals. The first of these is that I will not allow the Ministry to continue in its errors, the greatest of which, undoubtedly, has been its complete inability to admit error, and worse, to continue making even worse errors out of sheer pride and stupidity. My second goal is even simpler, and more important than the first._**

**_To, once and for all, destroy He-who-must- Voldemort._**

**_It seems that you are heavily concerned in the accomplishment of both of these goals, Mr. Potter. The Ministry has wronged you, persecuted you and those you loved, and ignored your warnings. More, being that I have access to more information than The Prophet(though less, I have no doubt, than Albus Dumbledore), it is fairly obvious to me that He- Voldemort, will not be defeated without you._**

**_My predecessor was a fool and a man who only wanted power for power's sake. I assure you, Mr. Potter, I am neither of these things. The Ministry does not owe you a great debt, if my calculations are correct, the Ministry owes you at least five, and I will not let these continue to go unpaid! I will not, in this time of crisis, have the young hero on who's shoulders rest the hopes of so many, alienated from the Ministry, unable to believe in the government that should be assisting him in any way it can, rather than hindering him at every step! And I will not allow this war to be lost because of ignorance, mistrust, and fear, because those were ever the tools of the- Voldemort._**

**_I request a meeting with you, Mr. Potter, and leave the time and venue to you to decide._**

**_Sincerely,  
Rufus Scrimgeour  
Minister of Magic_**

Harry Potter read the letter for what was perhaps the fifteenth time, gnawing uncertainly at his lip. What was he to make of this? His knee-jerk reaction was not to trust the Ministry, even if it did have a new leader who seemed so different than the one who'd spent the last four years alternately courting and persecuting him. However, in the wake of the Department of Mysteries, he'd made a promise, not to himself, not to his friends, and not to Dumbledore. He'd made a promise to Sirius.

He would think. He would reason. He would try to live up to the man he needed to be, rather than the child who'd gotten his Godfather killed through prejudice and rashness. So he read the letter again, and as had happened with every reading since the first, three things jumped out at him.

The Minister was coming to him almost as an equal, as a man, rather than patronizing him or treating him like a child, which was something every authority figure he'd dealt with since his eleventh birthday had done, to one degree or another. Though the majority of the fault was still his, it was that very sort of thing on Dumbledore's part that had gotten Sirius killed, and nearly gotten Harry and all the friends he'd had left at that point done as well. And despite the Headmaster's teary apology at the end, by the tone of the letter from the wizard that Harry had received only an hour before this one, Dumbledore was still thinking of him as a child, maybe a useful child, maybe even an adolescent who needed a little more length on the apron strings... But not a young man. Not someone who'd faced Tom Riddle again and again, and was destined to do so until one of them was finally dead.

The Minister admitted mistakes had been made. More, the Minister admitted what mistakes had been made, and was asking Harry to let him make it up, to prove that things could be different. Harry didn't immediately believe in the man, he knew people better than that, knew the Ministry better than that, certainly. But it wasn't fair to simply assume Scrimgeour was going to pay lip-service and then continue to be a worthless arse. In fact, not only wasn't it fair, it wasn't intelligent either. He knew what it was like to have assumptions made about him, and he wasn't going to be as foolish as the sort of people who read the Prophet and believed more than one word in twenty.

Both of these facts were making him seriously consider the Minister's offer of a meeting. However, it was the third fact, the most important, the one that had struck him first, that finally decided the young man who had once been the Boy Who Lived, and was now, apparently, the Chosen One. It didn't escape him that it was an intentional effort, and had probably been meant to influence him in this exact way, but that didn't change the central fact of it.

Scrimgeour had written the name. It had obviously been hard for him, and the first time the quill had torn through the parchment on the 't', but nevertheless, it was right there. Harry wondered whether it was easier for people to write it than it was for them to say it out loud. At first glance it seemed obvious that it would be, but on reconsideration, writing a word took longer, and more effort, than just spitting out three ugly syllables.

A soft hoot brought him out of his reverie as his eyes continued to scan the heavy, neat handwriting in front of him. Hedwig was eying the other owl in his room, but not with the usual thinly concealed dislike she showed most other avians. The gold-banded black owl that was certainly no Ministry owl, and must, therefore, be Scrimgeour's own, hooted twice in return, and after a moment, hopped over to sip from Hedwig's water dish. His snowy-white familiar clicked her beak once, then gave it a light ruffle through the other owl's neck feathers before hooting again in approval.

That was finally what settled Harry Potter. While his instincts were no longer necessarily to be trusted, Hedwig's were beyond reproof.

Well, that was settled, but now that he'd decided to respond... What was he going to write? Harry found a quill, a pot of ink that hadn't completely dried out, and a roll of parchment with enough space left for what needed saying, whatever that might be. The instincts he no longer trusted were caught between a long ranting list of grievances and insults, or a simple response of yes, he'd be happy to meet with the Minister and discuss whatever he liked. The first was too aggressive, the second not nearly enough.

How would Sirius handle it? That brought a flash of pain and he pinched the bridge of his nose sharply, stopping tears before they could even get a good start. Now wasn't the time to be getting soggy, if he needed, he'd have himself another good cry after the letter was written. Forget Sirius for now, but who did he know that was good at dealing with Ministers?

Two names came to mind, the first of which was Lucius Malfoy. Well, it hadn't worked out too well for him, had it? But how had the miserable bastard managed so much influence? Money - he quickly concluded. Lucius had his old-blood charm and prestige, but what had given him power and influence were the old-blood galleons. Harry quickly dismissed that notion, he had enough in his vault to cover the next few years and give him time to figure things out, but not enough to buy a government employee. And if Scrimgeour were for sale, he wouldn't be worth buying.

That left one other person Harry could think of who'd shown any real ability in manipulating the Minister around to getting what he wanted. The tactics hadn't always been successful, and they'd been publicly at eachother's throats as often as not, but it was the only other design he had to work off of. Albus Dumbledore. So how did he do it then?

With power, with the respect and loyalty the public had given him. By using a mix of carefully worded threats and giving in where not too much was lost by doing so in light of what could be gained. As he thought back over the four years he'd been watching Fudge and the Headmaster maneuver around one another, Harry blinked in surprise, then ran his fingers through the spiky fringe of his hair in thought. Dumbledore was better at it than he thought most anybody had given the old man credit for, and in the end, it just seemed to boil down to a handful of ideas. Don't push too hard even when you've got the upper hand. Keep your stance on the important things and retreat on the less important when necessary. Never lose your temper or allow your feelings to make your decisions.

That last part was going to be the hard one. He blew out a sigh and let his head fall forward onto his knee. If he did meet with Scrimgeour, the sly old bastard was probably going to be purposely trying to put him off balance. Dumbledore would, and so would Fudge. And right now that would be easier than usual, not that it was probably ever that difficult. Merlin knew Draco Malfoy had never had much trouble in that area.

He looked down at the still somewhat shiny letters on the back of his hand. In the beginning, they'd been a reminder of all that was wrong with the Ministry, but at this moment, they meant something more. He hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut when it came to Umbridge, anymore than he'd been able to do when it came to Malfoy, or Snape for that matter. _I must not tell lies? _He thought,_ No. I must not lose my temper._

Yes, that was going to have to be his mantra for the near future. _I must not let my emotions, anger, fear, hate, control me. I must be better than that, I must think of all those affected by my actions first, and choose what course is best for them. _ Like Dumbledore did. _I must maintain control. I must be strong and brave, like a Gryffindor, not quick-tempered and out of control... _He snorted a laugh, completing the thought aloud. "Like a Gryffindor?"

Harry closed his eyes, breathing, trying to empty his mind like Snape had taught him, well, not so much taught as screamed at him to do - no, that wasn't helpful. He tried to empty his mind, he focused on his breathing, he let his heart beat. Then he really felt what was in him, instead of just trying to ignore it and allow it to color every thought and action.

He almost screamed. The pain was still there, in fact, contrary to what people kept telling him, it seemed to have grown sharper with the passage of time. And anger too, anger at himself, at Snape, at Dumbledore, at Malfoy, at Fudge and all his cronies left in the Ministry. Hate, for Voldemort and his Death Eaters, though, surprisingly, not truly for either Snape or Draco Malfoy, though unquestionably for Dolores Umbridge.

Fear, oh yes, there was plenty of that to go around. Fear of Voldemort, fear of losing the last few people he had left, fear of failing to really do what he had promised Sirius, fear of failing to do what he was destined to. There was more fear in him than he would have ever thought possible. He gasped shakily, and let it out as a sob. "So much... So much for brave and noble Gryffindors." He rubbed the back of his arm against his eyes, the tears had managed to come now, but this still wasn't the time.

Alright, now he knew the emotions, what to do with them? He wanted to push them down, shut them away, strangle them off... None of that was right, that wasn't acting like Dumbledore, or like a hero, or like a man, even. That was acting like Voldemort, and he was not going down that road. Dumbledore had told him this was what made him human, his pain, his loss, his love. So fine then, let him be human.

He sat there for over an hour, rocking slowly in his spot, completely unaware of the two owls staring at him, one with curiosity, the other seeming sympathy. Finally, those famously green eyes snapped open, still shiny with tears, and Harry dipped his quill into the ink. The emotions were all still there, but he had recognized them, explored them, learned their bounds and their reasons, or at least, made a start at it. They still had power to affect him, but at least he'd know which was affecting him, and how, and why. It seemed like a start at least.

Harry began to write.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic, sat at his heavy Spartan desk, staring with unfocused eyes at an inbox that was already overflowing with missives from every Department under him, while a steady stream of folded parchment aeroplanes winged their way in and landed, making the stack ever taller. On most days, this was quite the reverse of normal, Scrimgeour was a master of paperwork, a bureaucratic wonder if ever there was one. This wasn't to say he wasn't a hell of an auror as well, but he'd risen to the top by two major merits, power games and paperwork. Nobody really respected you in the modern Ministry if you couldn't fill out a form, and unlike the bumbler Fudge, Scrimgeour never let his name go on anything he hadn't fully read.

Today was different though, on the desk in front of him was a report detailing several suggested updates to Azkaban's new protections, and while his eyes drifted to it from time to time, he could only manage to read two or three words at once before his golden gaze unfocused again. The reason for this, of course, was one Harry Potter. More than anything else in the hash Fudge had left him, the enmity between Harry Potter and the Ministry of Magic was a crisis, especially if half of what most people were starting to believe about the relationship between Potter and the- _Voldemort_, he corrected himself- the relationship between Potter and Voldemort, were true.

Worse, if Potter was really strong enough to slay... him, that meant Potter was strong, stronger than anyone suspected. In that case, it was probably not the wisest idea the Ministry could come up with to antagonize and generally make him miserable. History had shown over and over again what happened when you drove powerful young wizards insane, Tom Riddle, yes, that was much easier to think than... the other... Tom Riddle was, of course, the perfect example. Misery and persecution lead to Dark Lords, simple as that. And if they were going to get this one sorted, Rufus Scrimgeour didn't much fancy training up the replacement monster before the current one was even slain.

Was it too late though? Potter was taking his bloody sweet time about it, wasn't he? Was he going to answer at all? If he wasn't, then where was Rufus' own owl, Lazarus? He growled, low and deep in his chest, for a moment making his leonine appearance even more impressive than usual. If Potter hurt his owl, they were going to have words, oh yes.

He was just thinking of how such a situation could best be handled when the flapping of powerful wings drawing rapidly closer broke his reverie. He looked up, immediately schooling any hope or expectation off his face, knowing it was quite likely this was just an owl from the head of some department or another, or a concerned citizen wanting to make him fully aware of their feelings, their suggestions, and their long list of complaints. It wasn't. It was Lazarus.

The great black and gold owl landed on Rufus' outstretched arm, and with the worldly grace and decorum that had never failed to bring a smile to his master's face, extended his left leg. The Minister's fingers trembled slightly as he removed the parchment from his familiar's proferred limb, not forgetting to give the faithful bird a pat and a word of encouragement. That done, he turned the rolled parchment over in his hands, staring at it as if it held all the hopes of the Wizarding World within.

Which, most likely, it did.

_That'll be enough of that._ With a snort, he banished the melodramatic thoughts, and with a deep breath, and a touch of rusty Occlumency, opened the letter with his wand and began to read.

**_Minister Rufus Scrimgeour,_**

**_First, I would like to say that I appreciate the courage that must have been involved in writing that letter. To approach me that way, not in public or full of bluster, and to acknowledge the wrongs the Ministry has done me and those I love took both bravery and honor. Also, while your use of Voldemort's name is obviously a bit of a play to get in my good graces, it's still earned you points, not for bravery so much perhaps as for showing that some compromise and progress may be possible between us by letting go of the knee-jerk fear most wizards have of even thinking the name of He-Who-Must-Be-Hyphenated._**

**_You want to repair the relationship between the Boy Who Lived and the Ministry? I understand the need, and, I hope, your motive. However, do you understand what's going to be necessary to accomplish that particular goal of yours? We're talking about more than just an apology here, Minister. To put it quite simply, I want reparations and an agreement between us that will allow us to fully unite, not just have the facade of it. You may have some idea what's coming, but I have better._**

**_I'd prefer to face the future with the Ministry behind me if it's possible, but if it isn't, don't think for a moment I'll hesitate to break off from you again if you start walking down Fudge's trail. I've been hated and persecuted before, in fact, I've grown quite practiced at it. And every time it happens, I wind up with more people who stick by me, and are willing to do things like follow me into the Department of Mysteries to face Voldemort himself. The night I invaded the Ministry to protect you lot from your own ignorance I had ten brave men and women fighting beside me, including three of the best aurors of our age._**

**_Next time expect me to have a hundred._**

**_Please do not, for a minute, think I'm trying to threaten you, sir. I'm trying to be honest with you, and make you really see something that no one else ever seems to, not Fudge, not Dumbledore, not even Voldemort. I may be fifteen sir, but I'm not just any boy barely starting to grow stubble, and treating me like one, or expecting me to act like one, isn't going to end well for anyone. In the past, it's gotten people killed, both of the Dark and the Light._**

**_Now you're probably getting a bit irritated with me. You're seeing the braggart Harry Potter, the spoilt child who thinks he can do whatever he wants and get everything handed to him for the asking. If that's true, I'd suggest you take a bit of a break from reading the Prophet, the Quibbler is a much better publication, in my experience. I'm not the Harry Potter you've read about either, that Boy is a fiction. I am who, and what I am._**

**_I am important to the war effort. I am starting to grow powerful in my own right. I have people I'm going to protect and ideals I'm going to fight for. But that doesn't mean I'm going to just give you a laundry list. No, I want a meeting, call it a summit, even. We'll meet, I'll tell you what I need, you'll tell me what you need, and hopefully, we can find some ground somewhere in the middle. Just remember this:_**

**_You told me you had two goals, fixing the ministry and killing Voldemort. I have two goals as well. Killing Voldemort, and making sure as many people as possible survive this War. If you can keep that in mind, I think you'll find me rather easier to deal with than you might expect._**

**_As you were the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time, I am sure you are aware of the area where the most recent Quidditch World Cup was held. If you wish to meet with me, send me a portkey to the central of the fields where the campground was, keyed to activate this coming Thursday at 3 o'clock PM. Your life is not your own to gamble with, so I'll understand bringing a pair of aurors for your protection. Any more than two, any reporters, anyone at all that I don't recognize or that I don't like, and that will be the end of it before it's begun._**

**_I look forward to meeting with you, and I hope that we can come to some understanding that benefits not only both of us, but everyone who stands to suffer at Voldemort's hands._**

**_Respectfully,  
Harry Potter_**

By the second paragraph Rufus' fingers had begun to crumple the edges of the parchment, and the lines on his face had deepened into a grimace of anger. And even though what came later held some attempt at reconciliation, his teeth were still clenched tightly as he slammed the document down on the desk in front of him.

The nerve of the boy!

Rufus blinked, then started. The boy? No. He reread the second paragraph, and then everything that came after it again. No, not a boy, not that. A young man who was at least partially aware of what he had in terms of bargaining chips, and who had his own agenda. Not the "spoilt child" people always seemed to begin dismissing him as when they started disagreeing with what he said or how he said it. One blunt, gnarled finger traced the line about how both Voldemort and Dumbledore kept forgetting this, and the Minister of Magic swore to himself, then and there, that he was going to remember it.

This was no boy, this was Harry Potter, the Chosen One. And if he was treated with respect, it was very likely he would respond in kind. So that was the tack to take, then. Rufus calmly folded up the parchment, tucked it into his robes, and quickly dashed off another letter. He gnawed on his lip thoughtfully for a moment, then grinned, and removed the heavy silver ring from his right hand and tapped it with his wand, muttering a word. He rolled up the parchment, slid the roll through the ring, and held it out to Lazarus. "Take this to Harry Potter boy, and be sure you don't lose the ring. My father would rise up out of his grave if I lost track of it."

Lazarus' feathers puffed up and he hooted indignantly, offended by the mere suggestion he'd lose anything so important, and took off with a powerful sweep of his wings. Scrimgeour watched him go, and was motionless for a time after. It probably wasn't going to work, of course. In all likelihood Potter was going to want free rein, maybe even to try to tell him what to do as Minister, and he wouldn't stand for that. But he'd go into this with an open mind, and try to deal with the b- young man on as equal a footing as he could. No lesser effort could be allowed.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

**_Mr. Harry Potter,  
As per your request, I have set this portkey to activate Thursday, the 11th of July, at five minutes to three in the afternoon, and take you to the location you specified. Please do not lose the ring, it is a valuable heirloom of my family. I will be waiting for you at the site of our meeting with two aurors. I think, perhaps, I shall take even further advice from you, and choose "two of the best aurors of our age" as you so deftly put it._**

**_May our meeting bring peace and advancement._**

**_Rufus Scrimgeour  
Minister of Magic_**

Harry stared at the ring, still not entirely believing all this was happening. He rolled the thick silver band over in his hand, examining it thoughtfully. In the center was a round cut amber, and on each side of the band was engraved an animal, a lion and a snake. It seemed Scrimgeour came from an interesting family background. Harry used a bit of twine to hang the ring around his neck, it wouldn't do to have the Dursleys see him with anything precious after all, and then picked up quill and parchment once more.

He'd decided on this even before he'd sent the first letter, but it seemed prudent to wait until the Minister had decided whether or not to tell him to sod off and grow up before he did anything. Another letter was written, this one coming much more quickly and easily. He rolled it up and tapped it with his wand to seal it, then secured the missive to Hedwig's leg.

"This one's for an old friend, girl. Bring it to Remus Lupin, and don't leave him alone until he responds. Don't let him send me just a letter either, peck at him until he gives you a package too." Harry grinned, stroked Hedwig's neck, and then watched her fly away. This was going to be a disaster, most likely. And there was, of course, the chance that it was a trap of some kind, whether there was Death Eater involvement or not... But things needed to change, and this was the best chance he was ever going to have of accomplishing that change by himself, in his own way.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

**Author's Notes:** So, this is the first chapter of my planned epic fic. If this goes according to the rough outlay I've got, it's going to wind up being an AU of the last two books. In the beginning you'll see events more or less following the timeline of HBP, but as Harry's actions and circumstances will be different, and the Ministry will be running a different course, you'll find it branches away from canon farther and farther as it goes. In the end I'm planning three books and possibly a short fourth. Your encouragement will help me make it that far, if you wish.

And yes, Harry's a bit OOC, but I'm trying to make it believable. In the canon he explains to Dumbledore that he laid around the house for a while sulking and decided he just had to move forward. I've decided that, for my fic, he thought a little bit more deeply than that and decided to actually try to stop making the same mistakes again and again.

A few other warnings as well:

1.There will be OCs as I go along, and while you need not fear any of them being a Mary Sue, they will play important roles in the story alongside the canon characters. If you object to OCs on principle, I regretfully suggest you find another fic.

2. There will be Honks. I plan to make it believable, rather than "Oh Harry I've always loved you!" in the second chapter, but if you object to this particular pairing on principle, I once again regretfully suggest finding another fic.

3. I don't have the entire thing plotted out yet, but there will be character death, and I'm going to try my best to make you cry with it. If you don't like this, see above.

4. You may be starting to work out that I'm creating an Independent! and Powerful!Harry. This isn't to say he's going to try to take the Ministry by storm, nor is it to say he'll discover he's a half-vampire, half-veela, earth mage who can do the ancient magic and invent spells off the top of his head, it's also not going to happen in the span of a few chapters, but it will be a gradual, believable process. If you like this kind of Harry, you've come to the right place, if not... Well, you know.

5. I'm from the Robert Jordan school of writing, which means most chapters won't be terribly long, but there will be a lot of them. The downside of this is that you'll be clicking the next chapter button more often. The upside is that new chapters will come out more quickly.

6. I've rated this story M for a few reasons. There will be violence. There will be adult language and content. There will most likely even be a tasteful love scene or two. However, if you're looking for smut, you're in the wrong place. Heck, you're on the wrong website!

7. This is a story containing Honks, but not just a Honks story. If that's all you're looking for... well... There aren't really many, so, good luck finding a decent one.

I hope you like it. Comments and creative criticism are welcomed, compliments even more so. Also, I'm looking for a couple good beta readers, so if you think you're up to the challenge, please do email me, it's right there in my account.

Oh, and don't worry, most of my author's notes won't be anywhere **near** this long.


	2. Meeting the Minister

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and his world are the intellectual property of the wonderful Mrs. J.K. Rowling, and she has my eternal thanks, both for all the joy she has provided me and the permission she's given her fans to play with her toys.

**Chapter Two - Meeting the Minister**

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Getting away from the Dursleys had proved to be just as easy as Harry had expected. For the most part they'd been leaving him be this summer, the thanks for which he most likely owed to Moody, Tonks, Mr. Weasley, and the rest of his friends who'd been at the station to see him off and have a word with Uncle Vernon. That morning he'd gone downstairs and cooked breakfast without being asked, and while his muggle relatives all gave him strange looks for it, they didn't comment, and neither did he. Once the food had been served, Harry had asked his Aunt if she needed anything done for the day, and the woman had been so surprised that all she'd come up with off the top of her head was some simple garden work and washing the windows.

Harry didn't enjoy his house elf tasks anymore than he ever had as a child, but he had a simple reason for all this. When the muggles thought they had control of the situation, they were far more likely to start pushing Harry around and demanding that he do or not do things. On the other hand, when they were off balance, they tended to avoid him even more than usual, often muttering to each other and shooting him looks as they tried to grasp just what was going on with their adopted freak. Most likely they'd decide he was up to something, but it would take them time to figure out just what it was, and all Harry needed were a few hours.

As he weeded Petunia's little garden Harry's mind was somewhere else completely. Two somewheres, actually. He had two very important meetings coming up today and tomorrow, and both were bound to get a bit sticky. Scrimgeour's meeting was hard to anticipate, given that he didn't know the man, so Harry's best plan was to use Lupin's gift and keep practicing his self-control through it, and otherwise, to be as honest as he could afford.

The meeting with Dumbledore, on the other hand, was going to be much trickier. At the end of the last term he and the powerful old wizard had parted on an uncertain note, though one that held the possibility of reconciliation between the two of them. Deep down in his heart, Harry wanted that reconciliation, with Sirius gone, Dumbledore and the Weasleys were the only adults left that Harry felt any real connection with. There was Hagrid of course, but Hagrid didn't really count as an adult in Harry's mind quite so much as a ten foot tall six year old. Sweet, affectionate, and not terribly bright.

Dumbledore though... Dumbledore was coming to bring him to the Burrow. While Harry desperately wanted to see Ron, and hopefully Hermione would be there as well, Harry didn't miss the fact that it was Dumbledore himself who was coming to do the escorting. Why? Harry saw two reasons, really. First because the Headmaster, more aware than anyone else in the wizarding world of just what Harry's life was like at Number 4, would know how desperate the young wizard was to leave, and how welcome the idea of returning to the warm, safe haven of the Burrow would be. Therefore, he couldn't help but look happily at whoever came to rescue him. The other reason, Harry suspected, was that Dumbledore probably wanted the chance to talk to him alone.

Funny, that. _Guess he's not so afraid of Voldemort possessing me and trying to kill him again._ A hiss of anger escaped his lips as he thought this, and he used the trowel to hack through a particularly thick weed, receiving a rather satisfying -chunk!- as metal tore through plant fibre. _No._ Harry shook his head and wiped sweat away with the sleeve of his tent-like shirt. Anger didn't get him anywhere. But at the same time, it wouldn't do to forget Dumbledore's part in everything that had happened in the last year.

It could be explained and rationalized in a thousand ways, with a thousand good reasons, but when you boiled it down to pure truth, it was simple enough. Dumbledore had abandoned him. Not just in terms of his fleeing the school and leaving Harry and all his friends in the hands of that sadistic monster, Dolores Umbridge, but even before that. Dumbledore had _known_ what was happening to Harry, far better than Harry himself. Hated by thousands all across Britain. Distrusted by all but a few of his closest friends in the school. Physically tortured by Umbridge. Mentally tortured by Voldemort. Possessed by Voldemort, for Merlin's sake! And what had Dumbledore's solution been? To leave Harry entirely without help, other than the gentle ministrations of the Potions Master.

Dumbledore claimed that as one of his mistakes of course, he'd expected Snape to get over his problem with Harry, believed the man to be capable of maturity and compassion. Harry wondered whether Dumbledore had begun drinking heavily, or if he was simply beginning to go senile. In either case, even with his all too generous assessment of Snape's emotional growth, why hadn't Dumbledore ever bothered to check in on how the lessons were going? If it was so bloody important, even more than Harry had thought despite the horrific nightmares and physical suffering, why had it never crossed the great and powerful Dumbledore's mind to inquire with either Harry or Snape, or even just to pop down to the dungeons himself and take a look in? Surely even an optimist like the Headmaster would have realized very quickly, if he'd taken the slightest interest, that Harry was not learning what he needed to.

No, of course it wasn't entirely Dumbledore's fault. Or Snape's either, for that matter. But it certainly wasn't entirely Harry's fault either, was it? And not just Snape's treatment of him, either. The Headmaster hadn't told Harry about the prophecy. He'd had much more knowledge of exactly what was happening to Harry, due to his connection to Voldemort, and had chosen not to warn the young man. _Guess he figured I just didn't need to know that I was BEING POSSESSED BY THE SODDING DARK LORD, eh?_ The argument could, of course, be made that Dumbledore hadn't wanted to scare Harry further. But the reverse of that argument was more powerful. By not making Harry aware of how deep the link went, of how much danger his mind was really in, he hadn't well reinforced how important Occlumency truly was. After all, in the end, Harry had decided it was easier to deal with nightmares of Voldemort than waking encounters with Snape, hadn't he?

Of course, the underfed, analytical part of Harry's mind, which he had so recently begun to try to cultivate, had something to say here as well. How much of Dumbledore's decision not to make Harry aware of the truth of the situation was out of concern for Harry, and how much of it was out of the old man's own fear and lack of trust? And it was starting to grow obvious that the second was a very real fact. Dumbledore didn't trust Harry, whether it was because of Harry's age, because of his link to Voldemort, or simply because the old man was used to being obeyed without question by those who declared themselves to be in the Light, Dumbledore had never trusted Harry with any important information until after the fact. Dumbledore _knew_ what Harry's life was like, he _knew_ that fate had already and would continue to pit Harry against Voldemort again and again, and yet he never told Harry what he really needed to know. He gave him a few hints and left a few doors open, and then left him to figure everything out by himself. Then the old bastard had the nerve to expect Harry to continue to believe in him.

Harry didn't notice he'd dropped the trowel. On his knees in the dirt, his bright green eyes staring off into the distance, Harry was very still. If he could have seen himself, he would have laughed, for in that moment he looked much like his friend Hermione did when she was having that special moment were everything clicked together in her head and she figured out the problem.

He didn't trust Dumbledore any longer. Yes, he still held affection for the old man, probably always would, and he believed that Dumbledore had the best interests of the wizarding world at heart, but he didn't trust him. Dumbledore was playing the long game, balancing forces against each other, manipulating large masses of people, all in his efforts to stop Voldemort. In their talk, he'd told Harry he'd been unable to put the welfare of the wizarding world above Harry's own happiness, but now Harry was suddenly doubting that. Dumbledore was many good things, but relentlessly truthful was certainly not among them. Would Dumbledore lie to Harry, about something that important, if he deemed it necessary to his plans to defeat Voldemort?

In an instant.

Another thing about that last conversation was now making itself very obvious in Harry's mind as well. Dumbledore had lamented his mistake in not telling Harry what he needed to know, yes. He had apologized and blamed himself, of course. But he hadn't said he wouldn't do it again, had he? Harry suddenly believed that to be quite intentional. He was a weapon, he was a useful tool, he was, quite likely, the most valuable piece on Dumbledore's board. But he was most certainly not the old wizard's equal, at least not in Dumbledore's mind. Harry wasn't quite sure where this lack of trust had originated, but it was obviously not contained to him, either. How many times had one member of the Order of the Phoenix or another told Harry just to trust in Dumbledore to know what he was doing? At the time, he'd always assumed that meant the person talking had some knowledge of their own that Dumbledore wouldn't allow them to share with Harry, but that was now seeming quite unlikely. Dumbledore played with his cards close to the robe, and because of his power, his charisma, and his reputation, expected everyone to go along with him and play their part as he dictated. And most everyone Harry knew seemed content with this, whether it was the Weasleys, Lupin, Hermione, or even Snape for that matter.

Not Harry. Not anymore. Dumbledore's methods had gotten his parents killed, had gotten his Godfather killed, had gotten half the old Order of the Phoenix killed. Certainly, Dumbledore had won out in the end, but how? There were only two answers, and neither were pleasant. Either Dumbledore had won by sheer luck, or... Or Dumbledore had won by trusting in prophecy and letting Harry's family be killed. He didn't want to believe that. He wouldn't believe it. But once a thing had been thought, it could not be unthought.

Harry shook his head, picked up the trowel, and went back to gardening. Thinking hard was something he was still new to, and it hurt more than he'd imagined. He needed a break, and if there was one good thing about the manual labor the Dursleys gave him, it was that it was usually of the hot, tiring, mind numbing sort.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

_**Dear Harry,**_

_**I must begin by saying that I am not untroubled by your decision to make a move as important as this without first consulting Headmaster Dumbledore. If you have been reading the Prophet of late, you will know that the Minister has already met with the Headmaster, and that it did not go well. The reason for this was that the Minister made the exact same request as he made to you personally, but Albus believed that the Minister merely wishes to use you as a pawn, a sort of figurehead to help him gather more support in this time of fear. I certainly do not disagree with him in this assessment.**_

_**However, I must admit that I was somewhat distressed that Albus did not see fit to inform you that the Minister wished to meet with you, or to ask whether you wanted the same before he categorically denied the request. In this action of yours, I see your need for independence, which is perfectly understandable, given both your age and position in this War. At the same time, it seems the Headmaster is still choosing to keep you in the dark about a great many things, as he does all of us. While I have, since I was your age myself, been satisfied to follow Albus Dumbledore's lead in these matters, it was a choice I made for myself. I do not see where you have ever been given that choice. And more than that, I was never the Dark Lord's primary target. **_

_**I also worry that Albus seems determined to follow the same course this year, in regards to you, as he did last. In your third year I kept you in the dark about my suspicions of what had happened among the Marauders, despite the fact that your Godfather and the fate of your parents were both as much your business as mine, and in the end Wormtail escaped, leaving Sirius a hunted wizard. Last year, although with some trepidation, I agreed to keep you in the dark about what was being done by both the Order and the Death Eaters, despite the fact that both groups were taking actions directly related to you, and in the end my best friend was killed.**_

_**This quandary has become somewhat a subject of dissension among the members of the Order. One group believes that you are at fault for not doing what you were told, despite the impossibility of your circumstances, I have no doubt you can reason out the identity of the most vocal believer in this. Some of us, however, are beginning to wonder how things might have gone if we had been honest with you, and let you know things that you certainly had a right to, despite your age. The matter of your age as well, is beginning to trouble me. It seems that three years ago, knowing where you grew up, knowing what you had been through, and most importantly, knowing you, yourself, I was aware that you were more mature and capable both of knowing important truths and making important decisions for yourself than the average thirteen year old. I wonder at myself now, that I let Molly Weasley convince me you were still just a child and we had no right worrying you with things like this. **_

_**The truth is, we had no right keeping from you things that directly threaten your life. You have my deepest apologies Harry, and my promise that I shall strive to do better, both in trusting you and in supporting you, rather than trying to coddle you.**_

_**I still do not agree with your decision to meet with the Minister, and I have no doubt that when Albus realizes I have helped you to do so, he will have some rather strong words for me. I do not care, I long ago lost fear of everything but losing my loved ones, and you are perhaps the last strong emotional bond left to me in this world. I have sent the package you requested, along with instructions for its use. I wish you luck, Harry. More, I wish you strength.**_

_**Sincerely,**_

_**Remus Lupin**_

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Harry checked his watch for the twenty-eighth time since he had emerged from the shower, and seeing the time at 2:52, sighed in a mixture of relief and tension. The time was here at last, but he still couldn't help feeling he was woefully unprepared. Despite the thought he had put into this, and the package Lupin had thoughtfully sent him in the dead of night, considering it took three owls to carry it, he was still a fifteen year old boy about to try to meet on equal footing with an experienced auror and politician. _No backing out now. Nothing to do but move forward. Give me strength, Remus. Give me patience Sirius, even though that was never your strong point either._

Harry gripped the silver ring Scrimgeour had sent him in his left hand, and tucked the heavy, awkward box Remus had sent him under that arm. It had, of course, occurred to him that this might be a particularly clever trap by the Death Eaters. For that reason, he gripped his wand in his right hand, and even as he felt the hook sink in behind his navel, bent his knees.

As he landed on the grassy field he let go of the heavy box with a crash and rolled to the side. In an instant he had sprung up, and reaching into the back of his pants, pulled out his invisibility cloak. Even before trying to survey the area he was running a curving zig-zag, wrapping the cloak around himself. Only when he was fifty yards from where he'd landed did he finally come to a stop, breathing through his mouth and trying not to gasp loudly. His eyes flicked from side to side, and carefully, he rotated in place.

He was in a large grassy field, much like he remembered, though no longer littered with tents. Also, when last he'd been here it had been fair and sunny, rather than dim. The visibility was limited to a few hundred yards by the constant mist rolling across the land from the north, but far as he could tell, there were only three people in the area, and as he'd picked this field partially because he knew there wasn't much in the way of concealment, he was as sure as he could be without magical detection, that no one else was hiding within hexing range. Still not revealing himself, he began stealthily moving toward the other three there. The Minister was looking at the cracked crate Harry had dropped upon his arrival, then scanning the horizon with a curiously amused expression on his face. To his left was an intimidating-looking black man with heavy shoulders and a shaved head who was clearly not Kingsley Shacklebolt, but quite nearly as impressive. To his right was-

"Excellent, Potter! Excellently done!" growled a very familiar voice. "Glad to see you've grown a bit of sense when it comes to elementary precautions!" It was there only for a second, and certainly somewhat marred by all the scars on the man's face, but it was the first time Harry thought he'd ever seen Mad Eye Moody smile. Since there was no mention of 'constant vigilance,' Harry was fairly sure it was the real Moody, which meant it was probably the real Minister as well.

Harry reached the place where he'd originally landed, pulling off his cloak and tucking it away as he began to check his crate, hoping the contents were as durable as he'd thought. "I'm sorry if that seemed a little extreme, or even silly, for that matter, Minister Scrimgeour." Harry grinned, though the expression was just a bit forced. "But it wouldn't have been the first time I was portkeyed into the hands of Death Eaters, so I figured I'd be cautious." Scrimgeour's own, answering grin, went a long way to reassuring the Boy Who Lived.

"Not at all, Mr. Potter." the older wizard rasped. "I've portkeyed and apparated into a few rather nasty situations myself, don't blame you a bit." The grin faded as Harry opened the crate, and the Minister's amber gaze fixed curiously on it. "What is it you've got there, then?"

"This?" Harry asked, reaching inside and extracting a utilitarian, if rather arcane looking, bronze tripod. "This is something on loan from a friend of mine." He locked the tripod open and set it down between the Minister and himself, then reached back into the crate for what appeared to be, of all things, a bludger. The Minister arched a shaggy eyebrow, but Moody's electric blue eye immediately fixed on it.

"Haven't seen one of those in decades!" Moody grunted. "Didn't even think they made 'em anymore, what with veritaserum being the approved form in this day and age." At the mention of veritaserum, Scrimgeour's eyes first narrowed, then widened again.

"Is that?" Harry nodded.

"The friend who loaned it to me called it a Deceit Disruption Device." Harry shrugged, placing the iron ball onto the tripod and turning it slowly until it gave a soft click. "It's easier to work around than veritaserum, and it can be fooled under the right circumstances... But I think we probably both have questions we'd rather not answer, so it seemed a better solution to how we were going to manage to trust one another."

Scrimgeour looked uncertainly at the Device, then glanced at his two aurors. "Are you two sure this is the real Harry Potter? I don't think any student at Hogwart's would have heard of one of these. And I don't fancy finding out too late that that's some kind of weapon or trap made to look like something else." Moody's eye spun, flicking to the Device, then to Harry again, his regular eye narrowing.

"You make a point, Minister. Perhaps if I just-" He reached for his wand, and instinctively, Harry snapped up his own. Moody snarled and pushed the Minister back, whipping his own wand up and beginning a complex-looking movement with it. "_Aufer-" _

Harry opened his own mouth, getting as far as "_Expel-_" before the second auror stepped between the two of them, pointing his wand at Moody. "Stop it!" He boomed in a deep voice, twisting to Harry. "And you as well!" He tossed his head in irritation. "I swear, bloody men always reaching for the wand first and asking questions of what's left! Honestly!" Harry blinked, and Moody looked decidedly put out, but the crazy old auror hadn't finished whatever bit of nastiness he'd been about to launch, so, cautiously, Harry half-lowered his wand.

"Harry," said the black auror. "What did I get you last Christmas?"

"I - wha? Who?" Harry interjected skillfully. The auror shook his head in annoyance, squinted for a moment, and then spoke again.

"Aww, now I'm hurt. You don't recognize your favorite auror?" Came the decidedly, and disturbingly, feminine voice from the 6'5 man.

"Guh, you..." Harry blinked. "Tonks?!"

"Wotcher Harry." Tonks winked at him, when she re-opened the eye it was the same electric blue shade as Moody's magical one.

"Oh, I.." Harry stared, and tried to shake off the shock when he saw Moody starting to raise his wand again. "A model Firebolt!" Tonks turned to Moody and grinned.

"See, Mad Eye? Wasn't that a lot simpler than having a wizard's duel out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Not as fun, though." Moody grumped, helping up the Minister who, Harry did not fail to notice, had also pulled his wand. Harry realized suddenly that the two men limped on opposite legs. Odd, that, most likely unimportant, but odd nevertheless.

"Now that that's settled." the Minister spoke coolly, passing an irritated look out in equal shares to all three of them. "Do you really think a Deceit Disruptor is necessary, Mr. Potter?"

"I'm not sure it's really necessary, Minister Scrimgeour..." Harry paused, trying to find the best way to phrase it. "But look at it this way, last year everyone was convinced I was nothing but an attention-seeking compulsive liar. And you're a politician." Scrimgeour let out a bark of laughter and nodded.

"Right you are, Mr. Potter, right you are." He strode forward and stopped just on the other side of the Disruptor, then glanced over at his two aurors. "I hope you two won't mind excusing Mr. Potter and I for a few moments." Without really waiting for a response, he twirled his wand above his head in a skewed circle, ending with a sharp twitch of his wrist. "_Orbis Privatum!" _ As he finished, a yellow circle ten feet across formed around them, then extended upward, closing into a cloudy, shimmering dome above their heads. The instant the dome closed, Harry suddenly became aware of all the birdsong, wind movement, and insect noises he'd been hearing only a moment ago. Now it was completely silent save for the sound of his and the Minister's breathing.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Harry looked for a moment in the direction of Moody and Tonks. If he squinted his eyes just right, he could see two human-shaped figures through the yellow haze, but that was it. "That's quite a useful spell, sir." He complimented, then returned his full attention to the Minister. "Do you know how this works?" Wordlessly, the Minister placed his hand on the orb and looked a challenge at Harry. Harry put his own hand opposite the Minister's.

"My name is Harry Potter." said Harry. "Until I was banned from the sport for life, I was the Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team." The orb remained cool to the touch.

"My name is Rufus Scrimgeour." The Minister replied. "I am the current Minister of Magic." The orb seemed, if anything, slightly cooler. That was the control part of the test, as Remus had suggested in the short note he'd included along with the Disruptor. Now came the other part. Harry braced himself, then spoke again.

"I am the heir to the throne of England." Instantly the Disruptor grew painfully hot. Harry hissed softly between his teeth, but did not remove his hand. After a few seconds, it cooled again. Scrimgeour nodded, something approaching respect deep down in his gold ring eyes.

"I am a direct line descendant of Merlin." Scrimgeour gave no outright reaction, but Harry felt a strong tingling in the palm of his hand.

"It works."

"Indeed it does, Mr. Potter. So, how shall we begin?" Harry had thought this all the way through, planned out a dozen questions, carefully phrased responses to everything he'd thought the Minister would ask him. Unfortunately, his mind now seemed to have gone blank, except for the knowledge that he had, in fact, done all that heavy thinking. Harry blinked, then looked away, trying not to let a blush creep across his features. Scrimgeour didn't comment, but instead, began himself.

"Are you the Chosen One, Mr. Potter?" Harry narrowed his eyes, remembering the notes on the Disruptor's weakness. A direct lie was impossible, but careful evasion wasn't out of the question, and if worse came to worst, he did not need to answer, unlike with veritaserum. Still, refusing to answer was not the right way to begin this.

"The Chosen One is just a catchy name made up by people who have no real understanding of events, like the Boy Who Lived." So far, so good. "However, a Prophecy said I would be vital to the war effort." Harry was staring directly into the other man's eyes, and thus he did not miss the quick flick they made down to Scrimgeour's hand. So, the Minister hadn't _entirely_ believed. Well, now he did, and without full knowledge of the prophecy, perhaps he wouldn't be so willing to try to decide exactly what it was Harry needed to do. Or be manipulated into doing.

"My turn," Harry said. "Why did you want to become the Minister of Magic?" Scrimgeour, to his credit, never hesitated.

"Fudge was a power-grubbing, paranoid idiot. With Bones gone, I knew I was the only one who stood a chance of marshaling our world for the coming War. Voldemort must be defeated, and I didn't believe anyone else could do a better job of that in my place." Harry didn't feel the slightest twinge. "Are you loyal to Albus Dumbledore?"

"I believe in his goals, I believe everything he says or does is with the best interests of the wizarding world at heart," Harry knew he was hedging. And more, by the direct stare he was receiving, the Minister knew it too. "I..." _The way he avoided me last year. The way he keeps things from me. Mum, Dad... Sirius._ "I don't know how much I trust him anymore." Scrimgeour gave a sharp nod. "Are you willing to sacrifice innocents to stop Voldemort?"

The Minister sighed and then let out a soft growl. "If there is no other choice, and the direct consequences of not doing so are the deaths of many more innocents... Then yes, I am." Harry hadn't known what answer he wanted to that question, and even though, knowing that this was a War, and what kind of monster Voldemort was, he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about the answer he'd received. He needed to think about it, but now was not the time. "Are _you_ willing to sacrifice innocents, Mr. Potter?"

"I..." Harry closed his eyes, and saw Cedric. "I..." Cedric, and the sound of his mother screaming, pleading for Voldemort not to kill her baby. "If there's no other choice, and people I trust agree that there's no other choice..." Not just Cedric now, but all of Hogwart's, burning, children screaming and leaping from the towers. "If there's no other choice, then yes." He expected the burn, he wanted the burn. It did not come. Harry felt a shudder pass through his spine, and wondered if he had just taken a step closer to becoming what he hated. "Do you hate Dumbledore?" The Minister frowned, and took his time to answer that one.

"I believe in his motives as you do. I do not entirely trust his methods. I believe Albus Dumbledore is, in many ways, the embodiment of Gryffindor's greatest flaw. I think if he finds a heroic and dramatic solution to a problem he will choose that method, rather than trying to find a less costly way of doing things. I also believe the persona he presents, the kindly, batty grandfather image, is a lie. He is one of the greatest wizards of our time, and behind those sparkly eyes of his is a cunning manipulator who knows politics and all the forms of persuasion far better than you or even I do." Not the slightest tingle. Harry waited.

"No, I do not hate him." The shock from the Disruptor was sharp enough that Harry's hand convulsed. Scrimgeour winced, then sighed, "Alright. I hate him. I hate the way he pretends to be someone he's not. I hate the way he tries to indoctrinate the children at Hogwart's with his own view of the world. I absolutely despise the fact that he knows he has power, and that if he used it outright he could change a lot of things for the better, but instead he's much happier to manipulate everything from the background while he openly complains about how badly we're all doing things." The Disruptor was still this time. "Are Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody, and Nymphadora Tonks spies for Dumbledore?" Harry's hand tightened on the surface of the Disruptor, but he had brought it to encourage honesty, and he'd be damned if he was the one who broke the start of trust now.

"Yes. They're members of a secret organization centered around Dumbledore that he established in the last War to oppose Voldemort. They're more concerned with passing on information about the Death Eaters that the normal public is not privy to, rather than the inner workings of the Ministry itself, and helping in fights against the Death Eaters, especially where my protection is concerned, but the word 'spy' undoubtedly still applies." Harry's heart was hammering, and he felt sick. Moody would get along one way or another, and he barely knew Shacklebolt, but he'd talked enough with Tonks to know that being an auror was perhaps the greatest source of pride and satisfaction the woman had, even more than fighting Voldemort. "Are you going to sack them?"

Scrimgeour seemed to have some idea of what was passing through Harry's mind and he shook his head. "Relax, Mr. Potter. I have no intention of sacking any of them. They may not be entirely loyal to me, but they're all loyal to the Light, and I never disagreed with you about them being the finest aurors of our age. I'm not foolish enough to spurn my best warriors merely because their loyalty isn't entirely to me. That would be something Fudge would do." He chuckled softly. "No, I'm sure I can still find quite a good amount of use for them, I'll just be careful about what information they come into possession of. Besides." He grinned in an unmistakably predatory fashion. "A known spy for the other fellow can be even more useful than an unknown spy of your own." He looked intently at Harry, "Why did you agree to meet with me?"

"Because I'm starting to think Dumbledore has my future all mapped out in his head, and he's going to push and prod and bait me into doing exactly what he thinks I should. Because I'm tired of the people I'm supposed to be helping mistrusting and outright hating me. Because I'm sick of the people in charge not being able to decide whether I'm a child who can't be trusted or a hero who can't be trusted. Because Voldemort has decided I'm his nemesis, which means I'm going to be in the middle of this war no matter what I do, and if I don't have a choice about that, then I choose to be the wizard, rather than the wand." Harry could have gone on and on in that vein, but he thought that was enough. "Are you willing to work with me as an ally, rather than just using me as a tool?"

"Yes. It might be easier in the immediate future to just use you, but if this War is going to last, I'd rather have you as another strong arm by my side and a sharp mind at my table than a figurehead." Looking into Scrimgeour's eyes, Harry didn't need the Disruptor to know the Minister meant every word of that. Slowly, Harry smiled, and let his hand fall from the iron sphere.

"I don't think we need this anymore, sir." There was the slightest trace of huskiness in his voice, and he coughed, as if he merely had to clear his throat. From the Minister's own returning smile, Harry wasn't sure the man entirely bought that, but he was certainly politician enough not to say anything. Scrimgeour lifted his hand from the orb and shook it, his palm obviously smarting from the one burn the device had given him.

"Good enough then. Why don't we get down to the meat of things then, Mr. Potter? What is it, exactly that you want for, what was the word you used? Ah, _reparations_?" Harry licked his lips and took a breath. This, at least, he thought he was ready for.

"First, I want an auror." Scrimgeour quirked an eyebrow at that.

"You think it's bad enough already that you need a bodyguard?" Harry shook his head.

"No, you misunderstand me, sir. Let me ask you something, who do you think is going to fight this War?"

"You will, I will, the aurors will." Scrimgeour listed casually, then paused, his eyes unfocused as he looked off into the distance. "Oh..."

"Yes, Minister. You have a finite number of aurors, and there are certainly a few skilled citizens who will throw in with us... But if this thing lasts, and we both know it's going to, you're going to start running out of them. And then-"

"And then it will fall to the victims of every war. It will fall to the children." Harry nodded sharply.

"In the last five years, Hogwart's has had one decent Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and the Ministry had a hand in taking him away from us. Second best was, of all bloody things, a Death Eater! And when the Ministry gives us a teacher themselves? She won't even let us practice magic in class, no, instead she has us reading and copying out useless drivel by some fool who probably never had to deal with anything more dangerous than a garden gnome." Scrimgeour looked uncomfortable, but he was nodding.

"You want an auror to teach Defence at Hogwart's."

"Yes, sir. Of everything I might ask of you today, that is the one thing that is absolutely non-negotiable." Scrimgeour held up a hand.

"Ease up, Potter, ease up. I see your point, and I'll do you better. Clover Darkscale is the Practical trainer at the Auror Academy, and she's been planning on retiring this year to go study Vipertooths. She owes me a few favors, and if I have to spend every one of them, she's going to be your Defence teacher this year." Harry nodded, a tension in his stomach that he hadn't even realized was there had just been lifted.

"Next, I want Dolores Umbridge sacked. No," He paused. "I don't just want her sacked, I want her persecuted, the way I was. I want her to never be able to work in the UK again, I want her to be hounded, I want her to be hated!" He was almost screaming now. "When people see her in the streets, I want them to throw _shit_ at her!" Scrimgeour's smile had faded away, as had his affability. If anything he was now looking a bit stern and more than a bit disturbed.

"A grudge Mr. Potter? Really, isn't that a bit beneath you? I know she made trouble for you last year, but Dolores Umbridge is-"

"Dolores Umbridge," Harry cut in, his voice suddenly as cool and sharp as a dagger of ice, a trick he'd learned from many years of Potions classes, "is a small minded, hateful, sadistic bitch who sees nothing wrong with torturing people who disagree with her."

"Now, Mr. Potter, I know how stories can spread and grow when they're told and re-told by teenagers. Really, you don't think that's true, do you?" Harry was very still for a moment. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hex the reasonable look off the man's face. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and remembered his promise. When he opened his eyes again, they were as hard and sharp as emerald drills. Slowly, purposefully, he raised his right hand and held the back of it a few inches from the Minister's face. He saw the man's eyes scan the words there, then widen.

"That's right, Minister. I don't lie. _Professor_-" He spat the word with an amount of bile that would have impressed Snape, "Umbridge taught me that. I. Must. Not. Tell. Lies. Over and over again in her office I was made to carve that into my flesh." He smiled, it was most certainly not a pleasant expression. "Worse, I had to do it surrounded by pictures of kittens and pink doilies." He let his hand drop, and continued in a conversational tone. "And if it hadn't been for Hermione Granger's quick thinking, she would have been the second person to ever Cruciate me."

"The second? Who was-"

"You know who." Harry purposely didn't say it in one breath the way everyone else did, but the meaning didn't escape Scrimgeour. "In my mind, that puts her on level with Voldemort in terms of sheer malice, if not body count." Scrimgeour's eyes were narrow slits, and one corner of his lip was curled back, not in a smile, but in a dog-like snarl.

"I'll take care of her, Mr. Potter. You have my word on that. So far you've asked two things of me, neither of which was too difficult. I'll admit I'm waiting for the other boot." Now came the one Harry had worried most over, but he didn't see any way around it. It was what he had to do, it was what was right.

"I want the Werewolf laws changed." Scrimgeour's face went completely blank. Harry sighed. "Most werewolves are normal people, sir. Normal people who'd like nothing better than to remain neutral in what's coming, with a handful who will want to join us, and a handful who will want to join Voldemort. Just like any other group you'd care to choose. Turning them into second-class citizens, making them pariahs, more, making them _suffer_, will only turn them to the Dark. Tell me, honestly, do you really prefer the majority of them as enemies?"

Scrimgeour sighed and ran his hands through the heavy mane of his hair. "It's not that simple, Mr. Potter. I'm just the Minister, I don't have the power to change the law." Harry snorted.

"Fudge didn't seem to have any difficulty with it." Scrimgeour shook his head, an annoyed expression flashing across his face at the mention of his predecessor.

"No, Mr. Potter. Fudge _made_ laws where there hadn't been any before. To be exact, he issued Ministerial Decrees, which are, in a way, placeholder laws that are enforced until the Wizengamot decides whether or not to make them permanent." Harry felt his eyes trying to glaze, but he forced himself to pay full attention. It was still better than listening to Binns, and probably much more relevant to what was ahead of him. "The Minister can make decrees where there is no current statute. However, any law that has been voted into existence by the Wizengamot can only be abolished by the Wizengamot, or suspended by a Minister acting with Temporary Powers."

"Can't you convince the Wizengamot it's in everyone's best interests to give werewolves better standing?" Harry was following the logic of the system at least, but not that of those controlling it.

"I very much doubt it. The Wizengamot are not much different than the average wizards and witches you meet on the street. A few are wise, a few are brave, a few are completely immoral, and the vast majority are stupid cowards." Harry snorted laughter, but sobered again quickly. Scrimgeour stared at him, seeming to weigh and measure the younger man(he was having no trouble thinking of Harry that way now) with his eyes. "If it's that important to you, I'll lobby for it where I can. I don't know how much it will accomplish, and it will no doubt lose me some support..." His face showed just the tiniest hint of craftiness. "But having the Chosen One backing me will no doubt make up for that."

Harry nodded, unable to hide a smile. "So now we get to what you want. I'm listening, sir."

"It's fairly simple, Mr. Potter. I want the people to know that you're with us. They already believe you're something special, and that you may be our only hope for defeating.. Voldemort.. If the public knows that you're backing the Ministry and that the Ministry is backing you, it'll go a long way to calming panic and making everyone more likely to cooperate when something important needs doing, like evacuations... Or enlistments." Harry nodded slowly, but held a hand up.

"I can't agree to that outright, sir. If you act with justice, and with the interests of the public at heart, I'll support you. But if decisions are made, like strengthening the Werewolf Laws, or scapegoating people, or suspending the rights of anyone, whether they seem guilty as sin or not, then I'll have to come out against them." Scrimgeour was quiet at that, considering.

"Compromise, then. If there's something you feel like you have to speak out against, you come to me first. I'll see if I can work you around to my way of thinking, or we'll see if we can't alter whatever it is enough so it doesn't bother you so much. If we can't do either, then you, as much as any citizen of Britain, have the right to speak your mind in dissent." Harry nodded.

"Anything else?"

"Yes, actually." Scrimgeour coughed, looking a bit embarrassed. "Public relations. I'd like to hold some press conferences with you, have you give the occasional interview. And since just about everyone knows now you've got a gift for defensive magics, we could see about putting your name on some of the pamphlets we're putting out."

Harry opened his mouth to refuse. He hated that kind of celebrity. He hated the spotlight. He especially hated using the Boy Who Lived for advancing himself. Then he closed his mouth again. He knew Scrimgeour didn't, for an instant, believe in werewolf rights, but in the interests of alliance, Scrimgeour was going to go to the wall for him on that one. Didn't he deserve the same in return?

"Fine, but we talk about what we're going to say before we appear in public, I do my interviews with the Quibbler, let the Prophet buy the rights. And if I'm going to put my name on those pamphlets, we're going to improve them first, they're rubbish." Scrimgeour looked particularly curious about that last one, but didn't question further, seemingly too pleased with Harry's ready agreement.

Scrimgeour extended his hand to Harry, and tilted his head to the side. "Are we allied then, Mr. Potter?"

Harry grasped the other wizard's wrist firmly, nodding as Scrimgeour returned the gesture. "My friends call me Harry, sir." Scrimgeour grinned.

"My friends call me Rufus, Harry."

"There's one more thing, Rufus, in both our best interests..."

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Can you see anything?" Tonks asked curiously, slowly blending her skin color back to its pale hue.

"I can see just fine with this," Moody tapped his magical eye, a rather unpleasant thing to watch, especially with the clicking sound his fingernail made on it. Tonks shuddered.

"Any idea what they're saying?"

"No, it's a magic eye, not a magic ear, and I was always shite at reading lips. Albus isn't going to like this at all." Moody growled.

"That we don't know what they're saying? I'm sure he'll understand, Mad Eye. He knows what we can learn is always limited by how much we're willing to risk exposing ourselves." Tonks shrugged, going through the painful process of shifting face back to its natural(or mostly natural) shape bit by bit.

"Not what I meant, Tonks. Dumbledore will understand that, but he's not going to like it when he finds out his Chosen One is meeting with the Minister behind his back." Nymphadora Tonks was suddenly very glad Moody had both eyes firmly fixed on the Privacy Circle, because that meant he'd missed the flash of shock and anger that passed over her face. Harry Potter was a hero, not a House Elf, and he didn't belong to anybody. Not the Prophet, not the Ministry, not even Dumbledore.

"What do you think he'll do?" Her voice, at least, she kept schooled to calm, mild interest.

"Albus won't have any problem handling it. He'll guilt the boy a bit, show him the error of his ways, and have him back in hand before term starts. Don't you worry about it." Moody turned and grinned at her, and Tonks smiled in return. Really, when you could change your face at will, a convincing fake smile was nothing at all. Inside, she suddenly felt a little cold.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

**Author's Notes:**

So that concludes Chapter Two! Wow! Truth be told, I hadn't planned to have this up until the middle of next week, this morning while I was waiting the last hour before the site would let me post the story I wrote as far as Lupin's letter, and then sorta ran out of steam. I was figuring I'd probably get back to it again in a day or two and write it bit by bit until I managed to get the whole conversation done.

Then I happened to check my email and saw that in the first three hours after I published it, I'd already gotten three reviews, six updates, and four favorites (including an author favorite!) What can I say? That got me all excited and feeling warm and fuzzy, and before I knew it I was rattling away at the keyboard again! So see? I said what I meant about reviews encouraging me. I can't express to you how glad I am that I've recieved such positive feedback so far, and as long as you keep showing me the love I'll keep doing the same for you.

Thank you everyone, and don't worry, I'll be starting on Chapter Three tomorrow.

P.S.

I still need a few betas, especially for helping with my britspeak(I'm a yankee, born and bred), and punching up the humor a bit.


	3. Dora and Dudley

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and his world are the intellectual property of the wonderful Mrs. J.K. Rowling, and she has my eternal thanks, both for all the joy she has provided me and the permission she's given her fans to play with her toys.

**Chapter Three - Dora and Dudley**

**- - - - - - - - - - - - -**

_"Finite Incantatem!" _ As the Minister took down his ward, Harry busied himself with disassembling the Deceit Disruptor. It came apart just as easily as it had gone together, and in a moment he had it packed into the crate again. He paused as he noted the cracks in the heavy wood, and frowned.

"_Reparo._" Came the pleasant female voice from just over his shoulder, and the cracks sealed themselves up as good as new, though Harry found the sound of wood splitting in reverse rather disturbing. He looked over his shoulder and smiled as he saw Tonks back to her regular form once more. He wasn't _entirely_ sure of course that that was the face she'd been born with, then again, he didn't know if she was, for that matter. Her hair at least, currently shoulder-length and the bright, hard blue the sky _should_ have been in the middle of July, he was fairly certain hadn't come with the original Nymphadora Tonks package. Still, he'd always thought the outrageous hair was perfectly suited to her.

"Thanks Tonks. Didn't see how I was going to get away with underage magic right in front of the Minister and all." The man in question had drawn aside to talk with Moody for a moment, and the two limping old aurors were making their way toward the younger witch and wizard just as Harry finished speaking.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that now, Harry. Just don't be breaking the Statute of Secrecy or abusing the privilege, and I'll see that you're afforded a bit of leeway." Harry knew he should thank the Minister for that, probably as effusively as he could manage, but about the best he could come up with was a slack-jawed gape of shock. The Ministry, who had seized on every bit of magic that had happened around him since his second year as an excuse to punish him or push him around, was actually going to ease up on their restriction?

Scrimgeour took in Harry's expression and gave an all-too-casual shrug. "You're the Chosen One, Harry, and even with that aside, based on past performance I think you've earned a bit of leeway. Honestly, most wizarding children are allowed to do some basic magic so long as their parents are around to fix any messes they might cause." The Minister paused, a look of irritation on his face. "In fact, it's been quite the reverse with you. Do you know that my first day in office I got no fewer than sixteen reports on your every activity for the day from just as many different sources? Fudge had gone completely 'round the bend, and put a lot more on you than just the usual Trace." Seeing the storm clouds gathering in Harry's eyes, the Minister held up a hand. "No worries, Harry. Even before I wrote you I took care of it. You're a citizen just like anyone else, and you've got the same right to privacy. I may not be able to force the Prophet to respect that right, but I'll be _damned_ if my Ministry won't."

"I.. I don't know how to thank you, Rufus." Aurors were trained observers, and while both of them had only found the Minister referring to Harry by his Christian name as slightly curious, Harry's returned informality, and the lack of reaction from the Minister, certainly caught their attention. For just an instant, they met eyes, sharing an unspoken thought as easily as if it had been passed back and forth with Legilimency. _Just what went on in there?_

"Simple enough, Harry. Practice." Rufus nodded to the questioning expression Harry gave him. "I want you working on your fundamental magics over your break. In fact..." Rufus looked thoughtfully up at the leaden sky.

"In fact," Harry completed the thought. "It might not be a bad idea to issue another one of those pamphlets. Give my schoolmates Ministry approval to practice some of the more important spells as well." Rufus grinned.

"You're the one who wanted to fix up my pamphlets, Harry, so I'll be expecting a draft of the new one on my desk by next week. And I'll expect it to be reasonable as well, I'm not going to be happy if the Prophet starts screaming for my resignation and I get forty howlers a day after some fool second year Hufflepuff burns his family Manor down throwing around the Liquid Flame Curse."

_The Liquid Flame Curse? _Harry wondered, making a note to himself to look into it. The words had brought back a memory of that titanic battle between Voldemort and Dumbledore in the Ministry. The older wizard's fiery rope hadn't done more than cause Voldemort to pause for a moment, but somehow Harry didn't see Bellatrix Lestrange shrugging an attack like that off quite so easily.

"You'll have it, Rufus. I'll start work on it as soon as I get home." Harry winced, he could hope, of course, that his absence hadn't been noticed, but, with a glance at his watch, he realized he'd already been gone nearly two hours. The chances seemed slim, especially after he'd roused his relatives' curiosity.

"Quite right, quite right. We'll see you home then, Harry." Harry felt something rather like frozen stone form in the pit of his stomach.

"No, sir, that won't be necessary, really." Rufus blinked at the young wizard's sudden formality.

"What's the matter, Harry? I know your family are muggles, but surely they must know by now that we exist?" Harry was silent, not quite sure how he should go about explaining the Dursleys to the Minister. Without thinking about it, he looked at Tonks for help. With a slight smile, she took over.

"Bit of a problem there, _Rufus_," She grinned cheekily at her boss, who was giving her a rather pointed and dangerous look. "When it comes to muggles and muggleborns you're probably one of the most forward thinking Ministers we've had in the last century. I think Harry might be worried that spending a few minutes with his relatives will bring you around to You-Know-Who's way of thinking."

Rufus snorted. "How bad can they be? After all, they've raised up the Boy Who Lived, haven't they?" Harry tensed slightly at Rufus' mention of the moniker their world had branded him with, and was about to reply, but Tonks seemed happy enough to continue taking care of it for him.

"More along the lines of 'kept' him, Ruf-" The Minister cleared his throat threateningly. "Sir. Rather like you'd keep a farm animal."

"And how is it you know so much about this, Auror Tonks?" Tonks didn't even bat an eye.

"I'm friends with the Weasleys, sir. Went to school with their eldest, and Harry's been a fixture around the Burrow whenever he could manage it since he was twelve. If you want to know everything about Harry's home-life, just mention his family to Molly Weasley and she'll have told you all the nasty details, complete with what she'd like to do about them, before you've had time to get another word in edgewise."

"Very well." Rufus said distastefully. "How shall we see to Harry getting home, then? None of us has ever been to Privet Drive, so a portkey is out of the question." _Actually_ Harry thought, _you're the only one of us who hasn't been there, Rufus._ But he was not going to say that aloud. He'd betrayed Tonks and Moody already, and he saw no reason to make it even worse. Especially not right in front of them.

"I'll get him home, sir. I've been to Surrey a few times and I know a park we can Apparate to. Moody could probably do it as well," She continued, seeing the grizzled old auror opening his mouth to object. "But he doesn't, er, fit into the muggle world too well, whereas I'm a halflbood, just like Harry." Rufus looked a question at Harry, and Harry responded with a slight nod.

"Good enough then, Auror Tonks. See Harry here to his door and then return to the Ministry." He nodded to Harry. "It's been a pleasure, Harry. And have no worries, I'll take care of everything we talked about." Harry couldn't help but smile, though he worried it was too obviously a cunning smile.

"And I'll keep up my half, Rufus. Send back some particulars with Hedwig after you go over my pamphlet." Rufus gave him a measured bow of the head, a gesture as old as Merlin himself, signifying the respect between wizards of equal power, it was, in fact, meant to be a step in the archaic wizard's duels. Harry returned the gesture, lowering his head slightly more than the Minister had, and received a fond smile in return.

"Until we meet again, then." And with that, the Minister Disapparated, followed a second later by Mad Eye Moody.

Tonks shucked off her robe with a sigh of relief. Underneath she was wearing outrageously red jeans, scuffed white trainers, and a tee shirt done in vertical stripes of bright green and scarlet that showed she was either a supporter of the Caerphilly Catapults, or colourblind. She shrunk her robes down and tucked them into her back pocket, and that easily, she passed for a muggle. A slightly deranged looking London punk muggle, but a muggle nevertheless. She gave two flicks of her wand, one a feather light charm, the other to create a rope which she strung through the slats in the crate to form a handle, offering it to Harry like a parody of a giant's lunchbox.

"Ready, Harry?"

"Actually, I've uh, never..." Tonks grinned at him, a sort of predatory smile that made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. She slipped an arm companionably around his shoulders, which didn't go a long way to reassuring him. It was bad enough he knew he was about to be made the subject of fun, but it also highlighted the fact she was obviously taller than he was. While it was true she was certainly tall for a woman, despite having just gone through a growth spurt, due to either malnourishment thanks to the Dursleys, or just bad genetic luck, Tonks still had a good three inches on him. When she spoke, her voice was a playful, almost seductive purr.

"Don't worry Harry, I'll be gentle. The main thing to remember is not to-" Harry felt Tonks' arm twist sharply around his shoulders, spinning him in place, and everything went black. The pressure was unbearable. He couldn't see, he couldn't hear, he couldn't _breathe_! Just as he was starting to panic, light exploded around him and he fell to the grass, gasping. It was as dim and misty in the park as it had been on the moors, but Harry didn't think he'd seen a sight so beautiful since the first time he'd seen Hogwarts. "-over think it, just decide where you want to go, concentrate, and do it." Tonks concluded, offering him a hand up.

"That was _not_ gentle, Tonks!" Harry complained, but took her help anyway, wiping the water out of his eyes.

"Would you have preferred I told you what to expect and let you agonize and wibble about it for a few minutes then?" Harry glared at her for a moment, but the truth was, she was right. He sighed, shook his head, and turned around in place, getting his bearings. It was the same park he'd been in countless times since childhood. The park where he'd confronted Dudley before rescuing his cousin from the affections of the Dementors. Just the thought of the former guardians of Azkaban, now roaming freely across the countryside, and if what Scrimgeour had warned him of was correct, _breeding_, made Harry as cold inside as if one of the monstrous things were hovering just behind him. Unable to help himself, Harry glanced over his shoulder to check. No Dementor, just a few rusty swings and a slide in equally poor condition.

Harry oriented himself, nodded to Tonks, and began the walk toward Privet Drive, and more specifically, the miserable little house that had been his prison for as long as he could remember. Tonks jogged a few steps to catch up with him, managed to catch the toe of one foot on the heel of the other, and sprawled forward. Instinctively, Harry reached out to catch her and slipped on the damp grass. Both of them landed in a heap and Tonks groaned.

"Sorry Harry!" In an instant she popped up, apparently completely unharmed, whereas on the other hand Harry thought he'd managed to mildly sprain his wrist, and his knee was insistently informing him he could expect a nice dark bruise to form within the next few hours. With a grunt, Harry pulled himself up again, shot Tonks a dirty look that was mostly playful, mostly, and once again started out toward his home, this time letting Tonks walk a step ahead of him.

"You seem to be in a good mood today, Tonks. when the Minister hinted he'd be bringing aurors I knew, I was expecting some trouble once one of you managed to get me alone." Tonks glanced over her shoulder at him, and Harry, spotting a patch of mud directly in the path of her next step, caught her elbow even as she began to slip. This time they both avoided a spill, and the pretty auror beamed at him.

"My hero!" She mock-swooned. "And to be honest with you Harry, that's why I jumped on getting you home before Moody could. If it'd been him, he probably would've picked an apparition point another two miles away so he'd have time to give you a sizable chunk of his slightly twisted old mind all the way home." Tonks shrugged. "You can do me a favor though, and if anyone asks tell them I was very cold with you and yelled at you about going behind Dumbeldore's back. Fair?" Harry nodded quickly, but tilted his head slightly as he watched the side of her face, occasionally glancing in her path to be sure he didn't have to deliver her from a fall again. "You're right though, I _am_ in a good mood." Tonks grinned and gave a little full body wiggle of suppressed joy that Harry had occasionally seen from Hermione when she stumbled over a particularly rare book, or from Ginny when she was telling Hermione about something her boyfriend had done that had made her particularly happy.

Somehow Harry rather thought Tonks would be more of the second school than the first. "Got a date, then?" He asked, more than happy to indulge her in whatever she wanted to gush about, as long as it kept the topic off the meeting they'd just left. To his surprise, Tonks blushed. Metamorphmagus abilities aside, if Harry had been asked five minutes prior if Tonks was even _capable_ of blushing, he would have laughed the idea off.

"Well... Something like that, yeah." She sighed blissfully. "It's not exactly a date, but I really like him, and it's an excuse to spend a few hours alone with him, so I'm excited." Harry looked at the rather idiotic grin on Tonks' face, and the bright light in her eyes, and felt just the slightest stab of jealousy. Whoever this man, he was assuming it was a man anyway, was, Tonks was so _happy_ about the chance just to spend time with him. And not because he was a hero, not because he was a legend, not because he was the heir to a sizable chunk of money, not because he was famous. Just because she seemed to genuinely like him for who he was. Just once, Harry wished he could know what that was like, but the only woman who'd ever looked at him and seen Harry, not Harry Potter, just Harry, was Hermione, and all her playing around with Viktor Krum aside, it was obvious Hermione was for Ron.

"So I'm guessing this is a member of," He glanced around, they were alone, but still it was better to be safe than not. "The old crowd? Or is it another auror?" Tonks just gave him a mysterious smile.

"You're just going to have to let your curiosity plague you on that one, Harry." And in a sing-song, "'Cos I'm not teeell-ing!" She giggled and winked at him. Harry rolled his eyes, then sighed. "Aww, what's the matter, Harry? You missing Cho?" This time it was Harry who stumbled, and surprisingly, Tonks who caught him.

"How d'you know about Cho?" Tonks laughed.

"You're joking, right? Ginny and I are pals, Harry. She writes me near every week and she was right narked watching you moon over," There was the briefest pause, and then Ginny's voice emerged from Tonks' mouth, "That soggy, silly Chang slag." Harry still found that a bit off-putting, especially considering he was fairly sure Tonks accomplished the effect by altering her vocal cords. He shook his head and sighed mournfully.

"Well, however you found out, and don't think I won't be having a talk with Ginevra Weasley about involving herself in my personal life... No, it's got nothing to do with Cho. I'm well over her."

"Too right you are." Tonks nodded. "Honestly Harry, didn't anyone ever warn you that Ravenclaw girls will chew you up and spit you out?" Harry shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets and keeping his eyes forward.

"I guess. I don't know, Tonks. I just wanted to have something, and Cho seemed to be interested in me because I was a Seeker as well and I was good at Defence." He sighed heavily. "Turned out she was just interested in someone who she could talk about Cedric with. Still, it's better than the other, right?" Tonks glanced over at him.

"The other?" Harry snorted.

"You know." He pushed up his fringe. "This. Every girl I ever met looks at me and sees this. The Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Chosen One, all that mess." He laughed, though it contained only a small amount of real amusement. "Not _just_ girls either. You'd be shocked at some of the letters I get from fully adult witches." He felt his ears grow a bit hot, but continued on. "Stuff you wouldn't _believe_ anyone would put in the post, especially to a fifteen year old."

"Oh I think you'd be surprised about what I'd believe and what I wouldn't, Harry." Tonks was starting to get that predatory smile again. "After all, you do need to remember that besides the Boy Who Lived thing, you _are_ rather delicious all on your own merit." Now the blush was full on, and Tonks was laughing at him, a rich, throaty, full laugh that he couldn't help but smile at.

"If you say so. At least I've learned to keep the letters away from Hermione. One time I was showing a really bad one to Ron, just for a laugh, and Hermione happened to come up behind us and read a bit before we noticed." Harry made a face. "Never get Hermione that mad at you, she puts Mrs. Weasley to shame for volume when it comes to giving you a piece of her mind, and worse, she knows a lot more words. I spent two hours afterward in the library just looking up things she'd called me or accused me of." Tonks was still giggling, and Harry's smile widened. Not burdened with all the prejudice and gossip against him that girls in the school were, and obviously distracted away from trying to catch the Boy Who Lived, plus being young enough not to want to mother him, Tonks made pleasant company. Oddly, the sense of ease he had in talking freely to her reminded him of Sirius. And as that thought crossed his mind, he realized it was the first one he'd had of his Godfather since the Department of Mysteries that hadn't been accompanied by a dagger of pain.

"So if you're off the Ravenclaw girl, who _do_ you fancy these days, Harry?" Harry shook his head, running his fingers through the mess of his hair and flicking off some of the mist that had begun to accumulate.

"I'm off girls entirely for now, they're just too much bloody trouble, and I've got enough as it is."

"Not switching teams on us, are you?" Tonks teased, then patted his shoulder reassuringly as he shot her a disgusted look. "Relax Harry, just playing with you. But you _are_ a soon-to-be sixteen year old male. Your resolve won't last." Harry shook his head.

"Oh yes it will." Tonks cuffed him affectionately above the ear.

"Don't talk back to your elders, Potter. I'll bet you five Galleons here and now that before the year's out you're mooning over some girl with pretty tits and big eyes." She paused. "Or did I mean that the other way around?" She shrugged, winking at him. "It's biological, it is. The way things are supposed to be." Harry shook his head again.

"No, Tonks. It's the way things _have_ to be. I can't afford that sort of thing, not now."

"What," Her tone stayed playful, but a more serious light flickered in the depths of her dark eyes. "Going to be too busy being a mover and a shaker in the political world?" Harry sensed the question behind the question, and stepped around it, some of his comfort with the auror fading as he remembered where her ultimate loyalties lay.

"No, Tonks." All the amusement had drained out of him as he thought about the answer. "Think about it this way. The Prophet's decided I'm a hero again, which means every little detail of my life is fascinating, important, and the right of the public to know. If I start dating, the first thing they're going to do is put pictures of her and I right on the front page with something like 'The Boy Who Loved?' above them in big flashing letters." Tonks nodded, but looked unconvinced.

"So what? I'm sure you can find a girl who can deal with the publicity and not let it go to her head."

Harry growled and spat, "That's not the point! Voldemort's out there, and so is your insane aunt, not to mention however many Death Eaters are left and have been newly recruited. Do you really think that _none_ of them read the paper?" There was his temper again, champing at the bit and wanting to be given its rein.

"Oh." Tonks looked down, frowning. "I guess I didn't make that connection."

"Yeah." Harry replied dully. "If I ever _did_ manage to find the right girl, the first thing I'd do is tell her to run. Run far, far away from Harry Potter and never look back. Everyone I love gets killed." He blinked several times, swallowed, and was satisfied the tears weren't going to come. Tonks was silent, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "Honestly I'm scared to death for Ron and Hermione, but especially for Hermione. I'm fairly sure Dumbledore's been putting protections up around the Burrow, and the most of the Weasleys can Apparate... But what happens if five Death Eaters show up at the Granger house one night? Bad enough Hermione's a muggleborn, but she's also a path to me. Voldemort would _love_ to get his hands on her, she'd make great bait. Failing that, I'm sure he'd consider just being able to kill her a coup."

He felt a warm hand on the back of his neck, rubbing the tense muscles there comfortingly. "It's alright Harry. You don't think Dumbledore's thought of that too?" She paused, but only for a second. "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but the old crowd is keeping a very close eye on the Grangers. You've been through more than enough, we're not going to let that demented bastard take anyone else away from you." Her voice was soft and comforting, but still managed to be fierce at the same time. Harry caught her wrist and gave it a grateful squeeze. Tonks let her arm rest companionably on his shoulders as they walked on, and a moment later, broached the subject again. Tonks was different than any of the other women he'd ever met, but she was still a woman. Once she got on a subject, you couldn't ever get her off it for long until you admitted she was right.

"What about Ginny, then?"

"Huh?" Harry responded intelligently.

"Ginny Weasley. The girl's mad for you, and her family are known sympathizers. She's a target whether she's your girlfriend or you never look at her." Harry snorted.

"She's got a boyfriend, Tonks."

"She'd toss him aside in a second if you asked her to." He made a face.

"You're probably right... And that's a symptom of the disease." Tonks laughed.

"What, you think love is a disease now?"

"No, but I don't think Ginny's in love with me, either. She's the poster child for Potteritis. She was crushing on me even before we ever met, and then the first time we ever did more than say a few words to one another was the time I saved her life and slew the basilisk right in front of her, with the Sword of Gryffindor no less. I think that about permanently sealed it. Ginny knows me about as well as anyone who isn't Ron or Hermione, but she's still very much in love with Harry Potter, and I don't think anything could ever really change that."

"So? She's in love with Harry Potter. Why's that so bad? You're him, after all." Harry felt the scream rise up in his chest and make it halfway up his throat before he managed to grit his teeth. He took in a breath, let it out slowly, and managed to answer her in something close to a calm voice.

"No, I'm not. I'm just Harry. I love flying, I like magic for its own sake, not for power or to make things easier. I like playing Wizard's Chess, and everytime I manage to beat Ron I love teasing him about it. I like Defence and Transfiguration, I'm okay at Charms, I'd be complete pants at Herbology without help from Neville Longbottom, and I absolutely despise Potions, but I'll have to keep taking it next year if I ever want to reach the one goal I've made for myself, on my own. I buy chocolate frogs but I don't really like them that much, I just love collecting the cards and reading all the facts about the great witches and wizards... I'm a bit smarter than I usually let on, especially if I try to stop and think rather than just do whatever comes into my head. I've got a hell of a nasty temper, but I'm working hard on it now... Sometimes I'm brave, sometimes I'm scared. I won't say I'm ordinary, but I'm not really extraordinary either."

Tonks was listening, her face was a mixture of curiosity and compassion, tinged slightly with disbelief. Without either of them actually making the conscious decision, they'd stopped at the side of the street, in front of a store that sold music and collectible items, both at about five times their real value. "Harry Potter though..." Harry dropped the crate containing the Disruptor and scrubbed his hands through his hair, managing to make it even messier than it usually was. "Harry Potter is this great hero that everyone looks up to. Harry Potter saves people. He kills monsters anyone else would shite themselves just looking at. He goes nose to nose with Dark Wizards and never backs down a step. He always stands up for what he believes in, even if he has to stand there alone. He's the champion of the innocent and the defenseless. He's completely selfless, and always tries to help those who need him..."

"But that's you, Harry!" Tonks protested. "You do all those things!"

"I do it because I have to!" Harry snapped, pulling away from her, not wanting to be touched anymore, not wanting the comfort. Not _deserving_ the comfort. "Sometimes things need to be done. Dangerous things. Awful things. Sometimes people need hope, or they need saving. Sometimes people need a hero. And because nobody else will do it, or nobody else _can_ do it. I have to. I have to be Harry Potter, whether I like it or not, because there's no other real choice but letting the Dark win. So I do it. I do my best, and most of the time I still manage to bollocks it up somehow, and it's always the people I care about who pay the price. And even though people get hurt, or people die, I manage to get lucky enough to keep it from being a little bit worse, and for that, everyone loves Harry Potter, when they're not too busy hating him. And the more I do it, the more people expect it, the more people come to believe in Harry Potter, the more people come to _rely_ on him." Harry leaned against the facade of the store, resting his forehead, resting the scar that marked him - _and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal..._ - against the cold, slick concrete.

"All I've wanted, since as early as I can remember, was to be a normal person. To have parents, to have a family, to have friends. To go to school and have nobody but the people who love me care about what I do. To be ignored most of the time. To be just another student at Hogwarts, just another young wizard." He laughed, though it sounded half like a sob. "But I don't have that option. Because nobody else can be Harry Potter but me. So I will be Harry Potter, whenever I have to, no matter what the cost..." He closed his eyes. "But I could never be with someone who wanted Harry Potter all the time. I don't have that much in me."

Harry was just focusing on his breathing, trying to calm himself before he started crying, or screaming, or beating on the wall until his knuckles were bloody paste. Suddenly, Tonks grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around to face her. Harry whipped his head up and braced himself for the berating he knew he was coming. Just like Snape or the students at Hogwarts just like Fudge or anyone else for that matter who didn't really know him, she was about to tell him exactly how stupid and selfish he was being, and ask him how dare he be ungrateful for all he'd been given. He wouldn't scream at her though, he wouldn't snipe, he'd just stand there and take it. He closed his eyes and took a breath, firmly grabbing hold of his anger. And thus he was completely unprepared when Tonks pulled him against her in the sort of warm, crushing, almost desperate hug that would have done Molly Weasley proud.

She didn't say anything, and he was too shocked to speak. So they just stood there, her arms wrapped tightly around him, his face pressed against her shoulder. After a moment, hesitantly, his arms creept around her waist and she squeezed him encouragingly. All was silent, except for their breathing, hers nearly as erratic as his, as he slowly relaxed against her. Thus, they both heard the voice from down the block.

"Oi, Big D! Isn't that your cousin? The one who goes to the school for deviants?"

"Yeah," answered an all-too-familiar voice. "That's the freak alright."

"So if that's the freak, then who's the fox?"

Harry started to pull away from Tonks, though he wanted to get angry, he was still a little too dull inside from the near breakdown he'd just had, followed by the unexpected comfort she'd given him, for something as run of the mill as his cousin to really affect him. Yet, as he pulled away, he felt her fingers sink into his shoulder, not painfully, but with unmistakable purpose. She let him turn away, and at the same time pulled him against her. Then they were both facing the approaching boys, Dudley and his friend Malcom, with Tonks' arm wrapped around Harry possessively, and her hip pressed against him.

After what seemed like an eternity, thanks in part to Harry's frazzled nerves, but mostly due to Dudley's less-than-stately waddle, the two boys reached them. "Who's this supposed to be, then?" Dudley inquired of Harry politely. Meanwhile, Malcom's eyes hadn't left Tonks, though Harry was fairly sure Dudley's crony had yet to see either her face or her belt buckle.

"This is..." Harry paused, not quite sure how to introduce her.

"I'm Dora... And I already know who you are. Who's your friend, though?" Harry let his hand spasm behind her back, but managed to show no other reaction. Tonks' voice had changed again. She always had a rather pleasant speaking voice, and she'd put a bit of a purr into it before when she was making fun of him... But nothing like this. Deep, but still unquestionably feminine, throaty, sultry, and smooth as silk. The sort of voice you expected to answer if you dialed up one of those numbers where you paid by the minute to breathe heavily into the phone. Malcom swallowed, hard, and stared, his jaw going a bit slack. Dudley, meanwhile, puffed up even more than usual, which would have seemed impossible and certainly inadvisable, and looked quite pleased with himself.

"Oh yeah, everybody around here knows me." He drawled, trying for what Harry assumed was supposed to be a handsome smile, but looked more like the expression of one who desperately needed to find a toilet but was too embarassed to ask.

"Oh no, I'm not from 'round here," Tonks assured him, and Harry felt his eyelid give a twitch as she began idly stroking through his hair with long fingernails he would have sworn she hadn't possessed a moment ago. "Harry here has told me all about you though." She laughed, and all three males shivered to varying extents. "Face like a pig with the herpes, arse like a Volkswagen that's seen a few too many smash ups, voice like a rather dim parrot. I knew you as soon as I saw you." Tonks smiled seductively, and Harry could tell both of the boys were having trouble matching up how she looked and sounded with what she was actually _saying_. Malcom, who'd finally managed to tear his attention away from her chest, managed to regroup first.

"What, are you supposed to be Potter's girlfriend or something?"

"Oh!" Tonks exclaimed in feigned surprise, which somehow _still_ managed to be far more sexy than should have been allowed. "You must be Dudley's _smart_ friend! How generous of you, sharing your brainpower with him when it's so obvious you can barely get by with it yourself." Malcom snapped his mouth shut, obviously stung, but apparently summoning up enough of the aforementioned brainpower to realize anything he said would be used against him.

"I don't buy it." Dudley whinged. "What would a woman like you be doing with a loser like Harry?" He looked back and forth between them, as if he were trying to solve some particularly complex equation. Such as the square root of four.

"Oh my," Tonks laughed, prompting another general shudder. "You must understand, Duddiekins," Dudley's mouth tightened, his nostrils flaring in anger. "We _deviants_," The anger drained instantly from Dudley's face, as did most of the blood. "Have a rather extensive social network. My Harry here is considered _quite_ the catch. I'm just lucky that he sees something in me." Harry couldn't help it, he smirked. While Dudley had obviously figured out what Tonks was, at least to an extent, and was beginning to back up, Malcom didn't have the benefit of his enormous friend's knowledge. Or good sense, for that matter.

"I've sussed it, D!" He exclaimed proudly. Dudley whipped his head around, and knowing his cousin, Harry doubted there was anything Dudley wanted more at that moment than to tell his friend to shut his trap. Anything except to continue having the respect of boys even duller and more mean-spirited than himself, anyway.

"Wh-what's that, Malcom?" Dudley ventured, though the end was nearing to a whimper.

"It's simple! We know Potter's a loser, but he's even more of a loser than we'd thought! He's trying to make himself look all big, so he went out and hired a whore to- **GHOOOOOG**!" The rest of Malcom's thought was abruptly cut off as he produced a noise that summoned to mind a donkey being castrated.

In the midst of talking about their love lives and joking, Harry had started to relax with Tonks. More, as she'd first offered him a friendly ear, and then, quite literally, a shoulder to cry on, without realizing it he'd begun to treat her as something close to a friend. At some point during all this, he'd managed to forget who, or more precisely, _what_ Nymphadora Tonks really was. Namely, an auror. Harry never saw her hand move, nor did Dudley, he'd wager. Malcom certainly hadn't. One moment, it had been hanging at her side while she used the other hand to stroke his hair and try to make him blush by doing things to his ear with her nails. In a blurring instant, her hand had whipped forward, and was now resting against Malcom's throat, the tips of her thumb and middle finger digging deeply into the soft spots just behind the corners of his jaw. The pressure on the nerves there was causing quite an interesting reaction, Malcom was ululating like a raider in a desert movie and rolling his eyes like a spooked horse.

"You want to watch how you talk to a lady, Malcom. I might get offended." Tonks' tone had cooled noticeably. From the very beginning, Malcom had not been doing well. He'd been steadily making Tonks angrier and angrier, by staring at her chest, by talking bad about Harry, and then by insulting her. Now he made the final mistake. He bunched up his fist, wound back in a telegraph a visually impaired three year old couldn't have missed, and swung on a very brassed off auror.

Harry had always known Tonks was pretty, and also that she was almost outrageously clumsy. In the next few seconds however, he saw a grace in her he'd never before imagined. Tonks neatly ducked under the punch, and as she released her not-unpleasant hold on him, Harry's instincts from the team-combat he'd tried to train himself and the DA in the previous year kicked in. As he nimbly slid around behind his cousin, Tonks had still not let go of her grip on Malcom's neck. Instead, she'd slid under his arm and around him, effectively pinning that arm straight up as she locked her free elbow through the back of his other arm and grasped his shoulder, twisting the boy's arm behind him in such a way that all she'd have to do was straighten her arm suddenly and she'd dislocate his shoulder. A knee in the spine brought the boy to his knees, and he was effectively contained, unable to struggle effectively without doing himself some sort of serious harm, either by breaking his arm or forcing Tonks to rip his larynx out.

Dudley hesitated for an instant, and that was all Harry needed. Drawing his wand from up the opposite sleeve, he grasped a handful of greasy hair and pulled his cousin's head back sharply, jabbing his wand up the larger teen's nose, for an instant, being reminded of the troll in his first year. Seeing a good idea and not being afraid to copy it, he drove his own knee into one of Dudley's kidneys. It took two more repetitions to get through all the flab before, with a thud, Dudley hit the ground behind his friend. All that, and Harry didn't think his heart had beat more than three times from the instant when Malcom had swung, despite the fact that he knew it was trip-hammering.

"Dughleeey! Hahlp!" Malcom choked out. Meanwhile, Harry was furiously whispering in his cousin's ear.

"Things have changed Duddums, I just today got permission to do magic outside of school. And that pleasant lady who's got your friend by the throat is our version of a police officer. If you so much as look at her hard you're going to need a dozen more surgeries to remove things that aren't supposed to be there, and I'm going to get a medal for helping an officer in distress. So don't even think about it, because I bet you can guess just how much I would love the opportunity to use some of my favorite curses on you and get away with it, can't you?" This all came out in one long, steady, low hiss, and by the end Harry was grinning ferociously, and even though Dudley couldn't _see_ it, Harry knew he could feel it.

"I.." Dudley moaned. "I can't, Malcom! He's got, he's got a knife!"

"Good boy, Dudley." Harry whispered, but did not for an instant relax his guard. However, he couldn't take his eyes off Tonks.

"Now, now Malcom." Her voice had regained its sexy quality, but Harry rather thought Malcom was no longer as appreciative of it. "Harry and Duddiekins are having a little talk, and it's not right to get involved in other peoples' family affairs. While they talk, why don't you and I have a little chat?" Harry guessed she'd squeezed tighter on the nerves for a moment, based on the way Malcom squealed. "Oh I'm so very glad you're interested. Now, whatever shall we talk about?" She positively purred. "Oh! I know just the thing. Manners!"

Malcom groaned miserably.

"First of all, Malcom. It's considered very impolite in civilized society to stare at a lady's chest. Now, I know I'm rather attractive, so I don't mind a glance every now and then, even Harry's guilty of that, and he's one of the nicest boys I know." Harry grunted indignantly... But truthfully, he didn't think he could deny it. Tonks tossed him a wink over her shoulder. "Also, as I was trying to tell you before you interrupted me, quite rude that as well I'll have you know, it's certainly not acceptable in any situation to call a lady what you called me." Another drawn out squeal. Harry found he felt no pity. Amusement, but not pity.

"Both of those were very bad things, Malcom, but I was about to let you off you know. However, it is never," She punctuated this by whipping her head forward, driving the hardest part of her skull into the top of Malcom's head. "Ever." Another head-butt, and Malcom was gargling out a steady moan of pain and humiliation. "EVER!" This time he screamed as her skull cracked against his and and he swayed forward, but Tonks held him up. "Acceptable to strike a lady. Do you understand?" Malcom sobbed out something that might have been a yes, and began to sniffle grotesquely.

"Now then. I'm of a mind to let you go, but there are a couple things first. I'd like you to start by apologizing to my Harry for leering at his girlfriend. I'm going to loosen up a bit on your neck so you can talk, but if you move, if I even so much as feel a muscle tense, I'm going to rip your arm right out of its socket." The moaning lessened slightly, so Harry assumed Tonks had done as she'd said.

"H-Harrrry," Malcom blubbered. "I'm suh-suh-sorry! I di-didn't muh-mean toooo!"

"That's good Malcom, that's very good." Tonks cooed. "Next, I'd like you to repeat after me, 'I'm a stupid little boy, and my mother shouldn't let me out of the house alone.'" There was silence for a moment, then a sharp crack followed by another cry of pain as Tonks headbutted her victim again. It took nearly a full minute, but Malcom managed to stammer out the sentence through his tears.

"Excellently done Malcom!" Tonks lauded. "Now, there's just one more thing. I know how when Harry was little you and your friends used to beat up on him for fun." Her voice went so dead and malicious even Harry got a chill. He suddenly made the connection for the first time that she'd spent seven years with Snape as well. "Now I realize that even though my Harry is a grown man, if you got enough of your pathetic little virgin friends together you could probably manage to jump him and hurt him quite badly. I'm sure it would make you feel better about today and make up for whatever inadequacy has made you into what you are... But it would also be the last mistake you ever made." Tonks snarled softly.

"You see, Harry has friends too. And I'm one of the nicer ones. If you, or anyone you know hurts my Harry. Hell, if you even _speak_ to him ever again, we'll come for you. I know your name. I know where to find you. And if you make me come back to this shit hole you're going to disappear. No one will ever see you again, unless someone happens to fish a piece or two out of the Thames a few months later. Do you understand me?" Malcom made a small, whipped noise that she took for assent. "Do you _believe_ me?" Her voice had slipped back to seductive, which was somehow even more horrifying. He assured her that he did. "Good boy."

With a quick flex of her arms Tonks released Malcom and hopped back, planting a hard kick in his arse and sending him sprawling. Harry removed his wand from his cousin's nose, wiped it thoroughly in Dudley's hair, and released him as well, slipping the wand back up his sleeve. The two young thugs took off up the street and then stopped several blocks away, turning to look at Harry and Tonks in disbelief.

Harry glanced over at the auror just in time to see her lunge at him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his waist, and clung onto him as if for dear life itself. Then she kissed him, and he lost track of the world for a moment.

Cho Chang had been his first kiss, and it was quite probable he was doomed to compare every other first kiss to it for the rest of his life. Even if the kiss with Cho had been good, it still would have been nothing in comparison to this. Tonks' lips were incredibly soft and almost uncomfortably hot, and before he even knew he'd started to open his mouth, her tongue had slipped inside, probing, tasting, doing things there weren't names for, but there should have been. After a moment, he was starting to figure out how to respond.

It seemed to last forever. It didn't last nearly long enough. Tonks broke the deep soul kiss and slowly nuzzled along his jaw to his ear. "They gone Harry?"

"Mra-hfo?" Harry opened his eyes, blinked a few times until the world made something like sense, and scanned the horizon. He swallowed repeatedly, worked his tongue around until he could feel it properly again, and answered in a weak, husky voice. "Yeh, they gone."

"Good then!" Tonks hopped off him, straightened her shirt, and shook her head, causing her hair to fall back into place. She was grinning at him. Harry was fairly sure he was flushed from his socks to the roots of his hair. "Whore indeed!" Tonks snorted, looking at where they'd last seen Dudley and Malcom. "Had to show 'em I meant it all about being your girlfriend."

"Mmm." Harry agreed wisely.

"Harry? Haaarrrryyy?" Tonks tapped his forehead lightly. "You still in there?"

"Mmhmm." Harry agreed, leaning back against the cool, reassuring wall and rubbing his hands over the rough cement. It was still hard to feel anything but the ghost sensations of her mouth on his, but he was trying to banish that as quickly as possible before he made an even bigger fool out of himself. Tonks snickered.

"You weren't half bad either, Harry. A little clumsy, but you've got the enthusiasm down." Harry cracked open one eye to glare at her.

"It was only my second time, I'm still figuring out how to do it properly." He growled.

Tonks blinked in shock. "Really? I thought you and the Chang girl..?" Harry snorted.

"That was the first time. She was crying."

"If you were that bad on the first, and this was the second, be careful who you pick for the third. She's gonna be your slave for life." Tonks winked at him. "You feelin' alright?"

"Uh... Tonks?"

"Yeah Harry?"

"You're still using the voice."

"The wha- Oh." She cleared her throat. "That better?"

"That's a hard question to answer, actually. But it'll do for now." Tonks cuffed him playfully, grabbed his hand, and pulled him off the wall.

"Alright, march Potter. We need to get you home, and I need to get back to the office. They don't pay me to laze about and snog cute boys. That's just the bonus." She laughed, and Harry found himself laughing with her. He began to walk toward home, making it a good twelve steps before he realized he'd left the Disruptor behind. Tonks was laughing at him as he trotted back to pick it up and then caught up with her again. He had his revenge however, as less than a block further she managed to trip over a stone slightly smaller than a Snitch.

They had walked most of the rest of the way in companionable silence, and the dimness had started to become actual darkness, even though it was barely six. As they reached Privet Drive, Tonks put a hand on Harry's chest to stop him, and turned to look at him. Her dark eyes were suddenly serious, and a little worried.

"Look, Harry..." Harry had a sinking suspicion about what was coming. "We were just messing the muggles about, right?"

"Of course!" He agreed readily. The kiss had addled him a bit, but not that much.

"That's right. I've got my eye on someone, and you're off girls entirely for now." Tonks poked her tongue out at him.

"Exactly." Harry nodded seriously, and meant it.

"Good. Then we're going to just chalk it up to completely fooling your cousin, and the next time we see one another, I'm not going to be weird, and you're not going to be weird. Deal?" She held out her hand. Harry grasped her wrist, and she squeezed his.

"Deal." They released one another, and started the last stretch to Number 4. As they reached the door, Harry turned and nodded to Tonks. "Got me safely home, good job, Auror Tonks." Tonks went to cuff him again, and when he tried to block, tweaked his nose instead.

"Cheeky boy. Get inside, I'll probably be seeing you around soon, if you're going to the Burrow. Molly's always inviting me over." Harry nodded and turned toward the door, then paused turned to look at her again.

"Thanks Tonks. I owe you." She shook her head.

"No Harry... We owe you, all of us." He opened his mouth to deny it but she stopped him with a look. "Whether you meant it or not, whether it was accidental or a miracle, you gave us thirteen years of peace. In return, we left you in Hell for those thirteen years," He opened his mouth again, "And don't you go saying it's not so bad, either." He snapped his mouth shut. "Ron talks to his mum and Ginny, and they both talk to me. I know what life here is like for you. So if I can do something here or there to make it even the tiniest bit better, call it paying off the interest on my debt." Harry wanted to tell her not to feel that way, or that she'd already done more than enough. But the look she had on her face right now was very close to the look she'd gotten when Malcom took his swing. One did not disturb sleeping dragons, and one did not insult an auror's honor.

Harry simply nodded, and turned back to the door.

"Harry..." Her voice was soft this time, worried. He didn't turn, afraid of what he might see on her face. "I didn't ask you what you were doing, and I'm not going to. I'm not even sure you know, but... Look, you don't cross a powerful wizard, even a good one, without consequences." He felt her hand on his shoulder, and she gave him a strong squeeze. "Be careful, Harry... and take care of yourself. I've got a feeling it won't be long until we need Harry Potter again." She let her hand drop, and a second later he heard the pop as air rushed inward to fill the hole where an auror had stood a moment ago.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

**Author's Notes:**

In my outline this was just supposed to be a transition leading up to the meeting with Dumbledore, which I'd originally meant to be Chapter 3. However, once I started writing these two together the ideas started flowing out of nowhere and my fingers were moving on their own. Stephen King says you know you're writing well when the characters are telling you what they want to say, not the other way around, and I hit that point. I wasn't going to screw up a good thing.

To those who may be concerned, I'm not going back on my commitment to not shove these two together long before they're ready. This is just the first step down a long road. I hope you enjoyed the fluff and the bit of heat. More, I hope you enjoyed the character development.

Keep reviewing, and I"ll start on Chapter Four - Dursleys and Dumbledore, tomorrow.

Also, if you're interested in seeing Harry and Tonks' conversation from her perspective, as well as a bit of the repercussions, I've written a Bonus oneshot that you can find by going to my profile.

If the convo was a bit fluffy or angsty for your taste, feel free to skip on to chapter four, which, if it isn't up as you're reading this, should be sometime tomorrow.


	4. Dumbledore and the Dursleys

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and his world are the intellectual property of the wonderful Mrs. J.K. Rowling, and she has my eternal thanks, both for all the joy she has provided me and the permission she's given her fans to play with her toys.

**Chapter Four - Dumbledore and the Dursleys**

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Harry entered a disturbingly silent house after Tonks had gone. Despite the fact it was beginning to grow dark outside, none of the lights were on. He didn't hear the telly either, despite the fact that he knew his Uncle must have been home by then. With a somewhat confused frown, he moved to the kitchen and poked his head around the doorway. The sense of a charging figure was all the warning he had.

Instinctively he went for his wand, but he wasn't quick enough. A thick, meaty hand seized him around the throat, while another grabbed the wrist of his wand hand. An instant later the breath was violently forced out of him as he was slammed up against the wall. Harry gasped for air, but received almost none as the grip on his neck tightened into a throttle. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision while he struggled to get his arm free so he could go for his wand, but it was pinned to the wall next to his head. His feet well above the floor, he tried to kick, but encountered only giving flab. As fear began to assert himself, the lights went on in the room and he found himself looking down into the mottled, purple face of Vernon Dursley.

"You miserable, vile little _bastard!_" Vernon spat, emphasizing each word by pounding Harry's wrist against the wall. "How _dare_ you raise your hand to my son?! After all we've done for you!" Harry would have replied to that, but all his effort was going into sucking air through the tiny hole Dursley had squeezed his throat into. "We should have bloody drowned you when we found you on our doorstep! But no, Petunia would have none of it! Now she sees what's come of it though, and at long last Potter, you're mine!" Harry gagged and squirmed, kicked and pounded at Dursley's head with his free hand, all to no avail.

"I'm going to kill you boy." A moment ago, Vernon had been screaming. Now he was deadly quiet, and Harry realized that this time his Uncle meant it. Standing in the doorway was his Aunt Petunia. Harry looked at her imploringly, but although she did not look entirely approving of Vernon's decision to commit murder, but neither did she say a word of protest, and her eyes were as hollow of pity as a shark's.

Was this it, then? Harry had pictured his death many times of course, with the life he'd lead, he couldn't have avoided it. He'd pictured dying in a Quidditch accident, he'd contemplated Snape 'accidentally' poisoning him, or some kind of magical catastrophe like what had taken Luna's mother. Of course he'd pictured his death at the hands of Voldemort, over and over, and over again. This possibility, however, had never crossed his mind. The Dursleys had never been kind to him, had certainly neglected and starved him enough, and while Vernon had shaken him, pushed him, even thrashed him a handful of times, it had never been anything nearly this bad. It seemed Harry and Tonks had finally pushed the man past the point of reason.

His limbs were beginning to feel heavier as he starved for oxygen, and his struggles grew weaker. The lights in the room seemed to dim, and Harry felt his eyes beginning to roll backward of their own accord. Was this really how it was going to end? Not in a bang, but a whimper? "_Dum-buhl-doooor.." _Harry managed to squeak out, without even consciously thinking about it.

"What of him, boy? You really think he's going to come save you?" Vernon laughed, a sound that was well down the road to deranged.

"C-com-ing..." Harry's eyes drifted shut.

"Vernon!" Petunia snapped, her voice full of fear. "Let him go!"

"No Petunia, I'm going to do for Harry bloody Potter once and for all!"

"VERNON DURSLEY! You let him go or _Dumbledore_ will do for _us_!"

"I don't care Petunia! It'll bloody well be worth it!"

"Think of Dudley!" Harry didn't feel Vernon release him. Even as the floor abruptly came up to meet him, he could still feel thick, iron fingers burning into his neck. He gasped for air, gagged, spat out hot, coppery pink bile, and sucked in oxygen. By the third breath, sizzling pokers of pain were jabbing into his temples and his eyes, but he was alive. Harry pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, but it seemed his uncle couldn't resist one last shot. The tip of Vernon's shoe drove into Harry's ribs, once more knocking the air he'd just barely managed to regain out of him.

This time Harry stayed on the floor for a while, his eyes closed, just concentrating on doing what he did best, surviving. When it seemed no more violence was imminent, he pulled himself up along the wall and turned to face the Dursleys, rubbing at his already swelling neck. Vernon was standing on the other side of the kitchen and Petunia was holding tightly to his arm, as if worried that if she released him he'd fly into another murderous attack on her nephew. Harry glared at both of them, but the mixture of shock and the realization that he should have seen this coming were preventing him from the outright rage he realized he should have felt after an attempt at murdering him.

"Well boy?" Vernon sneered. "Your Headmaster is coming for a visit, is he? I bet he'll be quite interested in knowing what you've been up to. I remember Petunia mentioned that wizards have a prison guarded by those demented things. Looking forward to spending some time there, are you?" Harry stared at the man for a moment, and then he couldn't help it, he laughed. It was an ugly, choked, cawing noise, but from the vein that suddenly began throbbing on Vernon's forehead, the fat bastard knew a laugh when he heard it. "You think that's funny, do you? Or have you finally slipped the last of your gears?"

"Oh no..." Harry croaked. Without thinking about it, he swallowed, then slammed his eyes shut and wished he hadn't. After a moment, he managed to force his eyes open again, and tried to remember not to swallow any more in the near future if it could be avoided. "But they're not going to send me to prison."

"What?!" Petunia demanded. "You tried to kill our poor Duddie! Of course they're going to send you to jail!"

Harry snorted. "No I didn't, I _threatened_ Dudley. I never cast a spell," Vernon's face darkened at the mention of one of the words Harry wasn't supposed to use, but given recent circumstances, Harry rather thought he was done living by the Dursleys' idiotic little rules. "But, if you do decide to try and press charges on me, you should keep two things in mind."

While he spoke, Harry turned away from the Dursleys and walked over to the sink. He grabbed a clean glass out of the drying rack and began to run the water. "The first thing is that you can't very well turn me in to _your_ authorities." He smiled at their reflections in the window. "Unless you _really_ want to try to explain to a bobby about how I was pointing my _wand_ at Dudley. So, you'll have to get hold of an Auror somehow, and I'll go to trial before the Wizengamot." For a moment, Harry pictured his ridiculously mundane relatives in one of the courtrooms at the Ministry of Magic, surrounded by witches and wizards of all stripes, and he couldn't help laughing again, even though it hurt like hell. "What you don't realize, because you never cared to know, is that I'm a celebrity in my world. I've been fighting the most powerful evil wiz-"

"Boy!" Vernon warned ominously. Harry turned his head and glared at his uncle over his shoulder and shifted his arm, loosening the wand up in his sleeve. If Vernon came at him again Harry was planning on showing him every curse he'd ever learned.

"Wizard." Harry continued, turning his back again, but keeping his eyes on the reflection in the window. "I've been fighting the most powerful evil _wizard_ in the world since he killed my Mum and Dad, so the authorities will probably be quite willing to overlook anything I choose to do to what most of them would consider a second class citizen." The reflection wasn't sharp enough to show color, but Harry imagined that with that comment, he'd pushed Vernon far enough to have created a whole new shade of purple. Once the water was cold enough, Harry filled the bottom of the glass with it and sipped, letting it trickle down his throat. It hurt and soothed at the same time, but ultimately more of the latter.

Harry set the glass down and turned to face the Dursleys again, using the movement to conceal what he was doing with his hands. He leaned back against the sink, wand now held casually, the point down and slightly to the side of pointing at his uncle. "The other thing you want to remember," His throat hurt much too badly to manage the cold voice, but by the way both of his guardians moved back a half-step, he assumed the look on his face, as well as the readied wand, were getting the job done well enough. "Is that if I go to trial, I'll have to testify. And when they ask me why, oh why, I would possibly ever want to hurt one of my dear relatives... I guess I'll be compelled to tell them things... Things about cupboards and starvation and locked doors. Things about barred windows and being lied to about my parents - who, incidentally, are also considered heroes - and spending the first eleven years of my life being a punching bag for a boy five times my size..."

Quite a lot of the color had drained out of Vernon's face now, and Petunia looked as if she didn't understand what was going on, or how the situation had changed so drastically and so suddenly. Harry couldn't resist hammering the point the rest of the way home. "I've had experience with Dementors, and as you know, whether you want to admit it or not, I even know how to fight them." Not that the Patronus would be of any use in Azkaban, which they Dursleys didn't know. But then again, they also didn't know the Dementors weren't even _at_ Azkaban any longer, and Harry didn't see the need to confuse them with petty details. "How about you? I know Dudley's told you what it was like with just two of them. How do you reckon you'll do spending five years or so _surrounded_ by them, every moment of every day?"

"Enough!" Vernon shouted, though from the fact that he was still more pale than not, Harry knew this was mostly bluster. "That's enough, boy! I want you out of my house! I want you out of our lives!" Harry smiled, a hard, jagged edged thing.

"Uncle Vernon, this may very well be the first time we've ever been in agreement about anything. I'd love nothing more than to know I never had to see your faces or this shit hole," His smile broadened, the term reminding him of Tonks. "ever again. There's only one problem, isn't there?"

Vernon looked confused, so Petunia filled in the blank for him. "Dumbledore..." She whispered. "He wants you here."

Harry nodded and said, in the tone Aunt Marge used to address one of her dogs when it had just done a particularly impressive trick. "That's right, the Headmaster, for reasons you wouldn't understand or care about, wants me here. He's coming to get me tomorrow night, but he'll be expecting me to come back again next summer, probably until my birthday." Both of them looked as disgusted by the thought as Harry felt, but Vernon seemed to have picked up that Harry was angling at something.

"So... What then, boy?"

"I'm making some plans of my own, Uncle Vernon. If I have my way, tomorrow night will be the last time you ever see me."

"Good! And well rid of you too!"

"However," Harry cut him off before he could begin the plans for the celebration. "If Dumbledore realizes I'm up to something, or if I get caught up in a lot of legal trouble, my plans are going to be spoilt, and we're all going to get saddled with each other again." Harry lifted one eyebrow. "Do you see where I'm going with this?"

Vernon looked positively nauseous, but he nodded, and Petunia answered for the both of them. "We don't say anything about Dudley... And we act... _pleasant_... And after that, you won't come back?" Harry beamed at them patronizingly.

"That's right, Aunt Petunia. You just be charming tomorrow night, and if either of you starts to slip, think of what your life will be like once I'm gone. I'm sure that'll paste the smiles right back on your faces." Harry turned and refilled the glass, still watching in the window to be sure Vernon didn't re-think things.

"How do we know we can trust you? That this isn't some trick to make us look stupid?" Vernon snapped in a rage and took a step forward, prompting Harry to spin about and half-raise his wand. Vernon backed down again, but not lightly. _Funny, _Harry thought, _how he seems almost as bothered by the possibility of looking stupid as he did by the idea of me trying to murder Dudley._

"By my heart's blood and my soul's magic, Vernon, I swear to you I'm going to do everything within my power to avoid coming back here."

"As if I'd trust your word," The fat man scoffed.

"No, Vernon..." Petunia interjected softly. "_They_ don't break that oath. My sister told me that, back before she completely gave up normality. When they swear by their... When they make _that_ promise, they don't break it. There can be consequences." She looked disgusted by the very mention of her sister, and Harry wondered for a moment exactly which spells he could get away with... But the situation seemed in hand, and bollocksing everything up now just to satisfy his temper was something the old Harry would have done. _Sorry Mum._ He sighed, then walked past them toward the door of the kitchen.

"I'm going to my room. I'll feed myself tomorrow, and come down when Dumbledore arrives. Otherwise, you stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours." Harry picked up Remus' Deceit Disruptor as he passed it and started up the stairs. Once he was in his room he set it aside to mail out later that night, and sat down on his bed. Carefully, he placed the glass of water on the floor.

A moment later, he was trembling so hard that, to an observer, it would have looked like he was suffering a seizure. His fingers, his legs, his lips, every part of his body was vibrating with suppressed nerves and emotions. Silently, he sobbed as tears ran down his face, and cold sweat broke out from every pore. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his legs, and began to rock back and forth quickly, forcing himself to breathe, trying to calm down.

A sound escaped him, a high-pitched, cracked bark of a laugh that would have done Bellatrix Lestrange proud. He'd faced basilisks, dragons, dark wizards, and Voldemort himself, but finally standing up to his relatives had been the hardest thing Harry Potter had ever done. He was as proud of himself for the fact that he'd kept this contained until he got safely away as he had been for doing it in the first place. Burying his face against his knees, he continued to rock, and wished Hermione were there, or Mrs. Weasley.. Or Tonks. He desperately needed a hug right now.

After a while it started to pass, at least enough to where he could uncurl and take another tentative sip of water. He'd just set the glass down again when he heard a sharp clack from the door. His eyes narrowed to slits and he stood, grabbing his wand from where it had been resting next to him. _He couldn't possibly be that stupid... After all that, he's not really..._ Another clack, yes, he was really. After what had just passed between them, Dursley still had the stones to try and lock Harry in his room.

Harry took two quick steps across the room and raised his wand. "_Alohomora!" _ The first lock snapped back open. Then again, "_Alohomora!"_ There was a long pause, then Vernon, for who else could be that bullheadedly stupid? Vernon tried to lock the first lock again. Once more, Harry used the unlocking charm, and then hissed in a soft voice, just loud enough to pass through the door. "Dursley, I swear that if you try to lock that door one more time I'm going to blow it to splinters." There was another, longer pause, and then Harry heard heavy, retreating footsteps.

Harry was shaking again, he leaned against the door for an instant, only long enough to realize the tremors were so violent the door was rattling on its hinges. He whipped around, crossed the room, and threw himself on his bed. He curled up, facing the door, wand in hand, so he'd be ready if one of the muggles tried anything. He'd send Remus' package back to him tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to go to sleep.

Sleep, however, was very long in coming, and when it finally did, Harry dreamed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

_"Kill the spares." Said the young Tom Riddle in his high, cold voice. Before Harry was arranged a line of people, all down on their knees, arms tied behind them. Hermione and Ron, Neville and Luna, Tonks... Bellatrix Lestrange and Draco Malfoy made their way down the line, dispatching every person Harry cared about with smiles on their faces and flashes of bright green light._

Harry moaned and threw his arm across his face.

_"Good one James!" Sirius congratulated him, as Harry cast Avada Kedavra. "Now do it again!" Harry argued that it was wrong, that it was an Unforgivable. Sirius morphed into Snape and sneered at him. "If you're afraid of a spell Potter, how will you ever face the man who uses it?"_

Another moan, and Harry flipped over, burying his face in his pillow. "Sirius..." He murmered softly.

_"You didn't really think you could win, did you?" Voldemort asked from atop his throne of skulls. Carried by muggle children under the Imperius curse, the bastard loved the drama of it, he advanced across a field muddied with blood, littered with dead bodies. Surrounding him were the core of the Death Eater Army. Lestrange and Malfoy, Wormtail and Dolohov, Avery and Nott and Parkinson. All were grinning as they swished their wands, knowing triumph was at hand._

"No!" Harry gasped, though he never woke up, thrashing in bed and tossing the blanket aside.

_The Order was down to a handful of fighters. Harry gripped his new wand in his scarred, sunken-knuckled hand and, looking at those who remained, did the math. Ron and George Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Zacharias Smith, and Dora, of course. He looked back out into the burning forest, letting his eyes go unfocused as he'd been trained and watching for lateral movement. He counted twenty, at least twenty. And those were just the ones moving at that second._

_"You know the rules, Harry." Dora whispered softly in his ear. "We go down fighting, and we take as many as we can with us. You've got to get out of here though. Start running, we'll hold them off as long as we can."_

"Never!" Harry groaned, knowing he would have to. He couldn't even die with his friends. He began to sob, tears to leave another stain on his pillow.

_Arms wrapped around him and he tensed, but this was not an attacker, this was not an enemy. The arms tightened on him, held him pressed up against a warm body, tried to drain all his hurt and sadness away. Hot, soft lips pressed against his, and his mouth filled with the taste of hers._

Harry relaxed and let out a long, heavy sigh. That was the end of his dreams for that night, and in the morning he remembered nothing.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day at Number 4 was, perhaps, the best Harry had ever spent in the boring little house. Vernon and Petunia kept to their end of the bargain, quit literally staying out of Harry's way. Whenever he entered a room where one of them was, they quickly and silently found something that needed doing in another room. When Harry first left his room to take a shower that morning, he encountered his cousin in the hallway. Dudley looked positively gobsmacked to see him still in the house, and quickly hurried downstairs to where his mother was, unfortunately, cooking breakfast.

As Harry entered the bathroom and began to disrobe, he first heard Dudley's voice, whinging and demanding, then Petunia's, unusually stern. Dudley whined some more, and Petunia responded again, more calmly, and in more of the cosseting tone Harry had known since his earliest memories, though never had directed at himself. After that, things were quiet and Harry didn't see his cousin again.

The only problem Harry had at all was the bruise. Not the one on his knee, which had blackened impressively, just as he had expected, nor the bruise on his ribs where Dursley had gotten his last kick in. No, the moment he'd looked in the mirror he'd nearly gasped. His neck still throbbed from the night before, and a dark purple band encircled his throat, barely an inch below where his neck left off and the bottom of his chin started. After his shower he put on one of his uniform shirts and his Gryffindor tie, and examined the effect. It hid all but a sliver of purple, and he hoped that would do well enough. Really, who'd notice if they weren't looking for it?

Once he was clean, he refreshed Tonks' featherlight charm on Lupin's Deceit Detector and sent it back to the man who had once been his favorite professor and who he now counted among his small circle of friends, along with a brief note of thanks.

_**Dear Moony,**_

_**Thank you again for the loan, it was even more useful than I could have hoped. My meeting with the Minister went well, and though I can't share the details (beyond those which you've no doubt already learned from your old friends), I'd suggest keeping up with the Prophet over the coming weeks. I'm rather sick of all the little things in my life being reported, so I've decided I'll give them some real news to go into a frenzy over. I think you'll enjoy it.**_

_**I'd like to believe my parents and Sirius would be proud of me for yesterday. I think Dad and Sirius especially would have enjoyed how Tonks and I handled Dudley (if you haven't already heard the story, be sure to ask her) and even if Mum might have disapproved a bit, I still think she would have been laughing on the inside. Thank you for your help and your support, they mean more to me than you can know. I'll be staying at the Burrow after tonight, and I hope you come by and visit sometime, it does me good to be surrounded by people I love. Take care, and remember, keep your eye on the Prophet.**_

_**Sincerely,**_

_**Harry**_

Once Hedwig was winging skyward with the letter and the crate, Harry glanced at his watch. There was still the better part of a day to get through, and his nerves were already on edge as he anticipated all the things that could go wrong once the Headmaster arrived this evening. He tried to occupy himself, first with packing what little he'd taken out of his trunk, then with drafting a pamphlet, as the Minister had asked, but even though he already had the basic idea of what he wanted in mind, he kept finding himself with the quill poised an inch off the parchment, his eyes fixed vacantly on the wall in front of him, and realizing he'd been sitting that way for ten minutes or more.

He did get one important thing managed, though. Not long after complaining to his mum, Dudley went out to meet with his friends, which led Harry to wonder whether Malcom was still counted among that number. Either way, with Vernon at work, and Petunia outside, for once, doing her own bloody gardening, Harry had the perfect opportunity. Quickly, he darted out of his room and into Dudley's.

Without the second bedroom to store the overflow, his cousin had eventually been forced to start tossing some of his posessions when his room grew too cluttered with presents, but the vast majority remained, piled on desk and table, in the corner, on his bed and atop the telly. It took some searching, and Harry began to worry, but after twenty minutes he found what he was looking for. Two years since it had been recieved and Harry doubted it had ever even been used once, a small but professional looking Nikon camera, complete with a set of lenses and two rolls of film. Once he had sucessfully nicked his prize, Harry returned to his room and tucked it in the bottom of his trunk. He wondered, idly, if Dudley would ever even notice its loss.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The day seemed to take forever, but finally, while Harry was putting his signature on the bottom of the page, even going so far as to give it a flourish, he started as something out the window caught his attention. He was just getting up to see what it could have been when it happened again, the street outside had just got darker. Harry quickly folded up the parchment and tucked it into his pocket, then pressed his face against the glass.

Albus Dumbledore, dressed in sparkling robes of a deep sea green hue, was walking down Privet Drive. As he walked, he held up a small, silvery object, and one by one, the street lights were going out in front of him. Harry turned away from the window, darted to the door of his room and threw it open. "He's coming!" He announced to the house, then hurriedly threw on his robe. In one corner of his room was a pile of all the Dudley cast-offs the Dursleys had given him, which he was planning on leaving behind. Of course, he'd have little to wear other than school clothes and Weasley jumpers, both of which weren't fitting as well as they'd once done, given his recent growth, but he was never going to wear used clothing again if he had his way.

He levitated his trunk and carefully picked up Hedwig's cage, then made his way downstairs, setting both next to the door. Hopefully, Dumbledore would be willing to leave quickly. Harry didn't know how long the Dursleys were going to be able to behave themselves, and he didn't want to push their limits any more than was necessary. Hearing his relatives enter the room, Harry turned, and gaped. Vernon was dressed in his best tweed business suit, and his aunt in an unfortunate cocktail dress that somehow managed to make her neck look even longer than usual. Dudley had been forced into nice clothing as well, and his hair had been slicked back heavily enough to make Draco Malfoy's look unkempt.

As the bell rang, all four of them jumped and turned, as one, toward the door. "I'll get it!" Vernon announced and moved past Harry to open the door. "Ah!" He exclaimed in something that sounded like delight. "You must be Harry's headmaster, Doubledoor, was it?" Harry did his best not to stare. Vernon was using his best drill-salesman voice, the obsequious, oozing tone that seemed to imply he found everything about the person he was addressing terribly impressive and interesting. Of course, all three of them immediately noticed Dumbledore's blackened and twisted right hand, but none mentioned it, though Dudley couldn't seem to help himself from staring.

"Won't you come in, sir? Once th- Harry told us you'd be coming, we decided we'd delay dinner so you could join us this evening." He stood aside and gestured for the rather perplexed looking High Mugwump to enter. "May I take your... er... Robe?"

Dumbledore floated in past Vernon and, after glancing at Harry with a raise of one long eyebrow, turned to respond to his uncle. "I am, indeed, Albus Dumbledore. You of course, would be Vernon Dursley. Ah," The old wizard said, turning on his own charm. "And of course, the lovely Petunia. Am I to take it that this then, would be your son, Dudley? Strapping lad, isn't he? As to my robe," He smiled fondly at Vernon. "I appreciate your offer, but as I am wearing quite little beneath it, I wouldn't dare to impinge on your hospitality so heavily."

Vernon colored a bit, but merely cleared his throat and turned to look at Harry's aunt. "Is the roast ready, Petunia? I'm sure our guest must be hungry, travelling all this way from up in Scotland!"

What followed was one of the most surreal hours in Harry Potter's short, but undeniably strange life. Vernon told all his best jokes, including his now famous Japanese Golfer joke, which Dumbledore politely laughed at, though Harry had no doubt he understood fewer than one word in three. Petunia served dinner and asked polite questions about how Harry was getting on in school, which Dumbledore answered effusively, skating over some of Harry's less fortunate exploits and more or less making him out to be an excellent student. Dudley was silent and a bit sullen most of the time, but after an elbow in the ribs from his father when Dumbledore inquired about his own school, answered briefly, but not rudely.

And that was how the greatest wizard in the world had dinner with the greatest haters of all things magic in the world. The whole time Harry was waiting for it all to blow up, for Dumbledore's admittedly odd sense of humor to push Vernon too far, for Petunia's decades old hatred of magic to slip past the thin veneer of charm, or for Dudley to finally explode and start screaming about Harry trying to kill him... None of it happened. After a tense, if pleasant meal, Vernon offered Dumbledore a drink of the aged brandy he kept for special occasions.

"Ah, while I most certainly appreciate the offer, Vernon, I'm afraid I must decline. My stomach for alcohol is not quite what it once was, and I have several Apparitions to make tonight, which would be most dangerous indeed if I were intoxicated." Vernon almost asked, Harry saw the question form. But in the end, he merely nodded and expressed his regret that Dumbledore couldn't stay and enjoy the fine spirit.

"Well, Harry. All packed and ready to go I see. Would you like to say goodbye to your relatives before we leave?" Harry turned, feeling his shoulder muscles tense up. He nearly screamed when his aunt wrapped her bony arms around him in an imitation of the hugs he'd seen her give Dudley so many times.

"Oh be good, Harry! And be careful, we don't want anything happening to you!" Then it was Vernon's turn, he gave Harry a brisk shake of the hand and a thump on the shoulder, and finally, Dudley waved goodbye. As Harry heard the door close behind him, levitating his trunk along and following the Headmaster down the path, he felt the tight knot of tension in his gut finally unravel.

"Now then," Dumbledore said in his usual calm, friendly manner glancing over at Harry as the young wizard caught up with him. "Would you like to tell me what that was all about, Harry?"

The knot returned, in spades. "Sir?" He asked, hoping his tone sounded more like surprise than terror.

"Harry, my dear boy, because I am aged, and because I try always to be kind, many make the mistake of assuming I am either foolish or senile. I do hope that you have not fallen into that unfortunate and ignorant mindset. When your uncle offered to take my robe I was tempted to test him for the Imperius curse." Harry swallowed, hard. He realized now what his mistake, all their mistakes, had been. If the Dursleys had just been barely civil to him, it would have gone without notice. They'd all poured it on far too thick, and now to say the Headmaster was suspicious would be an understatement of epic proportions.

"I.. Uh..." Harry struggled to think, but his mind was chasing its tail in circles. "Ah.." Dumbledore was looking at him with that calm, infinite patience of his that said he'd be quite happy to listen to Harry make vowel sounds all night long until he managed to answer. As full on panic was about to set in, inspiration came like a lightning bolt. "It was the Howler, sir."

"Indeed?" Asked Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah sir... Ever since you sent Aunt Petunia that Howler last year, the Dursleys have all been nicer to me. Aunt Petunia knew a bit of who you were already, and when they asked I explained to them that you were this powerful, brilliant wizard who'd been looking out for me since I was a baby. I guess they're worried that if you think they're mistreating me again, that you'll.. You know, do something to them." Harry felt sweat trickling down the back of his neck as he struggled to keep meeting the Headmaster's calm, slightly disappointed gaze.

"I've never pictured Vernon Dursley as the sort of man to be cowed easily, or for long." Dumbledore mused. "But, to save you the frantic effort of attempting to construct further lies you think I might actually believe, I'll leave it at that. Just be sure you know what you are doing, Harry." He gave Harry one more long, disappointed look, then turned back down the path. Harry felt sick inside, and as he followed, couldn't manage to hold his head all the way up, instead focusing on the concrete in front of his trainers.

As they reached a more isolated spot of the Drive, Dumbledore stopped and turned back to face Harry. His eyes still held some small part of disappointment in his student, but he kept his voice cheerful. "Well, Harry. Are you ready? I'll be taking you to the Burrow, as promised, but we have one other stop to make, first."

"Where's that, sir?" Harry asked, finally managing to find his voice.

"As you are no doubt unaware, Harry. Hogwarts finds herself once again short an instructor. We are going to the pleasant little village of Budleigh Babberton to ask one of her former professors to come out of retirement." Dumbledore extended his good arm to Harry, "Now if you would be so kind as to-"

"Uhm, sir?" Harry interrupted, feeling a sudden mix of nerves and embarrassment.

"Yes, dear boy?"

"I, er, already took care of that." Shock and further disappointment seemed to be warring over which would take control of Dumbledore's face.

"I beg your pardon, Harry?"

"Well, I met with the Minister..."

"Did you, now?"

Harry shot his headmaster a look that tried to be annoyed, but it was usually quite hard to stay mad at the charming old man for long. "Yes sir, and I'm quite sure you already knew that I did."

"Well, I'd had some inkling of it, yes. May I ask though, what made you think that you were more capable of finding a suitable replacement teacher than I am?"

Harry stared at the older wizard for a moment. Then, "Are you sure you really want me to answer that, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore blinked, then suddenly laughed. "No, no I suppose there's no need, at that. Are we to have another Dolores Umbridge then, Harry?"

Harry's remaining amusement faded instantly at the mention of the woman's name. "No sir, of course not! I persuaded Minister Scrimgeour to assign us an Auror instructor to take over Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"That is unfortunate, Harry," Dumbledore tried to look disappointed, but the twinkle of victory in his eyes was unmistakable. "As the post for Defence teacher has already been filled. We are going to find ourselves a new Potions Master."

Harry felt a chill of fear creeping along his veins. Had something happened to Snape? He found himself, though it was certainly not a charitable thought, hoping that something had. "Who's going to be the new Defence teacher, then?"

Dumbledore turned on the full 200 watt charming smile, complete with twinkling eyes and grandfatherly patronization. "Why, Professor Severus Snape has been kind enough to agree to fill the position. Come along, Harry." Once more, Dumbledore held out his arm. Rather than taking it, Harry stepped back.

"_No!_" He hissed, unable to stop himself. Dumbledore's smile faded.

"I beg your pardon, Harry?"

"You heard me." Harry snapped. The temper was coming up, and this time he didn't think he had the strength to contain it. Not this awful flood of sickening rage as he pictured Snape screaming at first years about how pathetic they were. Not as he pictured Snape forcing Neville to duel him and undoing all Harry's work in showing the other boy how much he was really capable of. "I. Said. **No.**"

The smile was gone now, the twinkling was put out. Albus Dumbledore didn't move, didn't shift position, but he somehow still managed to become more impressive in an instant. Gone was the doddering, charming old man. Standing before Harry was the real Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the ICF, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and the only wizard Tom Riddle had ever feared. His eyes were as hard as stone now, and he spoke in a voice like thunder. "I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts, _Mr. Potter._" He intoned threateningly. "You are in no position to dictate to me what I shall and shall not do with my school."

Every fibre of Harry's being was screaming to back down, run away, do whatever he had to to pacify the powerful and terribly angry wizard before him. Even his anger had failed him, drowned as, for the first time, he felt real fear of the man who had been watching over him his entire life. But he couldn't back down, not from this. Every student at Hogwarts needed him. They needed Harry Potter. He tightened his hands into fists, his nails biting into his palms until blood ran and dripped from his knuckles, the pain was good, the pain centred him and helped keep him from shaking.

"This is wrong, Dumbledore." His voice didn't shake, in fact, it sounded nearly as strong as the Warlock's own. "And you _know _it's wrong." Dumbledore's eyes narrowed threateningly, but Harry kept talking. "Right now, more than ever, the students at Hogwarts desperately need all the Defence training they can get. I don't know what game you're playing, but the stakes are too high for you to make this move. Snape is no teacher, and you know _that_ too." For once, Dumbledore didn't correct him.

"He bullies his students, he doesn't bother to actually teach, just demonstrates and then screams at you for not picking it up right away. He undercuts their confidence, which is the most important factor of that kind of magic! Whatever your reasoning is behind this, whatever you're trying to accomplish, is it really worth weakening all the students at Hogwarts? Is it really worth putting the lives of a thousand children in even worse danger?" Though he was still in a fury, by the end of his diatribe, Harry was half-screaming... And half-begging. He so badly needed the Headmaster to see the sense of this.

Some of Dumbledore's intimidation faded, being replaced again by the charm. But only some. "Harry..." He said, gently. "You'll have to accept that I know what is best in this."

Harry snarled. "Just like you knew what was best last year? Just like you knew what was best for my _parents_!?"

Dumbledore was actually staggered back a step by that, but quickly regained himself, and for the first time, there was honest anger in his voice as he said. "You have no say in this matter, Mr. Potter. You're going to have to accept this whether you like it or not."

Harry shook his head. "_No._ I'll fight you on this one, Dumbledore. I'll fight you right down to the end."

Dumbledore waved dismissively with his good hand. "And what will you do, Mr. Potter? Will you try to match yourself against me? You're a talented young man, I'll grant you. But your power is in defeating the Dark Lord, and I am not that."

Harry was starting to wonder. He forced a smile on his face, an angry, nasty smile. "No, Dumbledore. I know better than that, I'm not strong enough to face you," _Yet._ "But you're forgetting who I am, and who I know. I'll start with tomorrow's Prophet headline, "Death Eater to Teach Dark Arts at Hogwarts?" and move from there. I'll write all the Governors, and I'm sure the Minister will be as distressed by all this as I am and will voice his own concerns. Half the reason you've held up this long is because everyone associates you with Voldemort's last fall. How will it look when the Boy Who Lived starts accusing you of trying to get children killed?"

**"THAT IS ENOUGH!" **Dumbledore thundered, then continued in a deadly calm tone. "Are you sure about what you're doing, Harry? Are you _certain_ that you want me as your enemy?"

Fear and sickness were boiling over in Harry, but he thought he was almost through this now. He needed to stay strong, only for a little bit longer.

"The question is, Headmaster; Are you certain that _you_ want **me** as _your_ enemy?"

The two wizards stood on the most normal street in the most normal town in all of England, staring at one another, testing wills through their eyes. The tension between them was as thick as bile, and in that moment, a second split of the wizarding world almost occurred, one which would have sent horrific shockwaves through an already devastated community, and created another pair of factions that could never have stood up against the oncoming forces of darkness. Finally, after a moment that seemed to last a lifetime, the older wizard shook his head and turned away.

"Harry..." He said softly, sadly. "I hope you are thinking through all the consequences of the decision you are making tonight." He sighed miserably, and Harry wanted nothing so much as to take it back, to erase that awful disappointment in the man who had been the closest thing to a grandfather he would ever know. If he had his own choice, he would have, and the consequences be damned. But Harry Potter had never had the right to make choices for himself, because every choice he made impacted the world. "Very well, Harry. I shall inform Professor Snape that the Ministry is once again interfering at Hogwarts and I am unable to grant him the post he desires."

He turned his sad eyes on Harry again, and Harry saw that something, some spark of kindness and friendship that had always been there, had forever been extinguished. Something in Harry, a small part of what remained of that child who had been so happy to have all his dreams come true at Hogwarts, died in that moment. For the third time, Dumbledore held his arm out, and this time Harry took it. There was darkness, there was pressure, and when they found themselves outside the Burrow, Harry told himself that the wetness streaming from his eyes was only from the Apparition.

"Run along now, Harry. I'm sure Molly will be waiting for you." Harry swallowed. He wanted so badly to apologize, to beg forgiveness, to undo what he had done. But he couldn't, and nothing he could do would make this any better. Trunk and owl in tow, Harry walked toward the Burrow.

"Harry." Dumbledore said softly, but not too softly to be inaudible. "Do not seek to test yourself against me again. Next time you will surely fail."

_No, Dumbledore._ Harry replied, but only to himself. _I can't afford to fail. That's what being the Boy Who Lived means. I can never afford to fail the people who depend on me._

Harry wiped the worst of the tears away, wiped the blood from his hands, painted a happy smile on his face, and knocked on the door to the Burrow.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

**Author's Notes:** Well, here's Chapter Four. I know there's probably going to be a lot of different viewpoints on how I wrote Dumbledore, but this is the character as I've always perceived him down deep. Not evil or cold-hearted, and certainly not stupid or senile... But hard. Hard as a man would have to be to face down two Dark Lords. And perhaps a little too convinced of his own righteousness. If you don't like how I write him, I'm sorry, but this is the best I can do. I'm not sure about the dream sequence, but that's a part of Harry Potter, and I figured I'd give it a shot. Also, this wasn't where I'd planned to end the chapter, but it felt right, so I'm putting what I'd planned as the end of this at the start of the next one. To those who miss the owls, they'll be back soon, I promise! Also, more Tonks to come!

On cliches_:_Some of you have expressed a bit of concern/complaint that there are some cliches threaded through my writing, like Harry having a life-changing epiphany over the 5/6 summer, Tonks pretending to be Harry's girlfriend, beating up on Dudley(although I've actually never read one of those, I take my readers' word for it.) Now there's another one in here, where Dursley finally snaps and beats the snot out of/tries to kill Harry.

All I can say in answer is this: Right now I'm still more or less on the canon track, and there are only so many paths to take off of it. As I get farther along, the things you've seen before will grow less and less. As it is, I write them with my own spin, and try to make them as original(comparatively speaking) and entertaining as possible. Look at it this way, would you prefer a few small overused cliches, or would you prefer the two massive ones of "Harry wakes up one day to realize he's got the powers of a Demi-God and he's sick of everyone's shit" and "Tonks tells Harry she's always found him attractive while Harry decides she's the perfect older woman, secksings ensue"?

Finally: To all those who've been kind enough to review. I'm trying to respond to every review personally, but I only get so much computer time a day (I share the computer, and I have responsibilites out here in the real world) and right now I'm spending most of what I have working on this fic with occasional breaks to rest my poor, aching mind and fingers. If I haven't thanked you, _please_ don't take offense, I either just haven't gotten to it yet, or I accidentally missed you. Until I started writing on ffnet, I never realized how wonderful it was having all this encouragement, your compliments, comments, and suggestions are what keeps me going, so please keep them coming. It's positively awe-inspiring to me that in the three days since I posted the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Black Hearted Auror I've already had over 7,500 hits and 81 total reviews. I love each and everyone of you, my dear, loyal readers.


	5. The Weasley Family

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and his world are the intellectual property of the wonderful Mrs. J.K. Rowling, and she has my eternal thanks, both for all the joy she has provided me and the permission she's given her fans to play with her toys.

**Chapter Five - The Weasley Family**

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Who's there?" Asked a familiar, if rather nervous voice from the other side of the door. "Declare yourself!"

"It's me, Mrs. Weasley." He paused, then realized that wasn't much of an identification. "Harry."

The door opened at once and there was Mrs. Weasley, much as Harry remembered her, if with a few grey hairs at her temples. She looked over Harry's shoulder, frowning. "Isn't Albus with you, Harry?" She gestured for Harry to enter and he did so, but not without a wince at the question.

"No ma'am, he left me just at the door.. I, uh, guess he had other things he needed to do." Mrs. Weasley frowned then turned back to the kitchen, as he closed the door behind him Harry's eyes moved to follow her, skated over an unfamiliar witch with mousy brown hair, then snapped back. "Tonks?"

"Wotcher Harry." Tonks sighed with an obviously forced smile. "Good seeing you well out of the house with those muggles." She set down the mug she'd been holding and stood. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly, but I'd best be going. Night Harry."

"You don't have to go on my account, Tonks." Harry protested.

"No, no, I need to be off." Tonks murmured, starting to walk past Harry without meeting his eyes.

"I do hope you'll change your mind about coming this weekend, dear." Molly smiled hopefully at Tonks' back. "Remus is coming, as well as Mad Eye."

"No, it's alright Molly," Tonks said, turning to look over her shoulder at Mrs. Weasley as she replied. "I-" She broke off in mid-sentence.

"What's wrong, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, concerned. Slowly, Tonks turned her head back toward Harry. Unfortunately, she wasn't looking him in the eye. Instead, her hard, dark gaze was fixed on the knot of Harry's tie.

"What the hell is that?" She asked, her tone no longer listless, as it had been only an instant ago. Now it was hard, sharp, incisive.

"Uh... It's my school tie, Tonks." Harry said quickly, hoping to forestall what he feared was about to happen. He grabbed the tie and showed it to her, incidentally pulling the collar of his shirt higher as he did so. "See?" He asked, nervously. "Gryffindor colors."

"Nymphadora? What's wrong?" Molly moved over to where they were standing, _her_ tone on the other hand, was growing more concerned by the second.

"Don't call me that." Tonks replied absently, brushing Harry's hand aside and beginning to undo his tie. It was a strangely intimate sensation, and Harry might have enjoyed it more if Mrs. Weasley wasn't watching over the Auror's shoulder, and if Harry hadn't known what was about to be revealed to both of them. He half-moved to stop her, but the look she gave him forestalled any further notions that he was going to get out of this somehow. Tonks left the tie hanging and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, opening it to reveal his neck and part of the way down his chest. Mrs. Weasley let out a soft hiss of sympathy and anger. Tonks, on the other hand, seemed to be all business.

"Right then." She said, softly. "Which one was it, the walrus or the whale?"

"It doesn't matter." Harry protested, shaking his head. "I-"

"Of course it does," Tonks interrupted him coolly. "I need to know how wide a ditch to dig."

"Tonks, it's alright, really." The look he received at that, from both women, was enough to stagger him back a step.

"It is **NOT! **Harry, it is a long bloody way from being alright! It is in fact, most definitely the exact _opposite_ of alright! They have no right doing this to you, and I'm not letting them get away with it anymore."

Mrs. Weasley laid a hand on Tonks' shoulder to restrain her, "Now, dear, there will be no digging of ditches," She said gently, and Harry was saved. "Very messy way of doing things, that. Unmarked graves make people curious, that's what my brother Fabian always said." Harry stared at the kindly-looking, motherly woman.

"I don't care!" Tonks snapped, turning away from Molly's hand and heading toward the fireplace. "Someone should have done something about those _wretched_ Dursleys a long time ago. They've got this coming, and if nobody else is going to do it, than I damned well _am!_"

"Tonks, no!" Harry started after her, and as he got within a step of reaching out for her she turned, glaring at him full force, her eyes like obsidian daggers.

"Why, Harry? Just tell me _why_ they shouldn't be punished for all they've done to you! Do you honestly think you deserve this? That everything they've done to you is excusable somehow?"

Some part, a small, miserable, dark part of Harry did. But it was the same part that blamed itself directly for the deaths of Sirius and his parents as well, and for the death of Cedric. Sometimes that part was strong, most times it just dwelled under the surface. Either way, Harry knew if he gave the wrong answer, the Dursleys were going to be murdered, probably quite messily, and Tonks was going to go to Azkaban for it.

"Look, I've handled it. I talked with them, told them I wasn't putting up with anymore, we came to an agreement." Harry was trying to think as fast on his feet as possible. "It hasn't been as bad lately anyway, first with them knowing about-" He swallowed, determined not to let the sadness get in his way right now. "About Sirius, then with what you all did for me at the end of term. I've come a long way since the cupboard days and-"

"What cupboard?" Now it was Mrs. Weasley's voice that had gone terribly flat. _Oh balls._

"That's not important, my _point_ is that-"

"Molly asked you a question, Harry." Tonks said, and though her tone had become much more gentle, there was still iron buried underneath. Harry began to back away from the two formidable women. Mrs. Weasley on one side, and Tonks on the other, didn't let him get far. Working with the kind of telepathic communication one usually only saw in sheepdogs and wolves, they maneuvered him to the wall where end of the table was. Carefully, but firmly, Tonks pushed Harry down into a chair and pulled another up in front of him, straddling it and resting her arms on the back.

"Now tell us about this cupboard." Tonks pressed. Meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley, as was often the case when she was upset, began busying herself about the kitchen, though she continued to glance at Harry frequently. It was a mark of how much she was striving to contain as she conjured not one, but two pots of burned anchovy and vinegar soup before she managed to produce something that smelled halfway edible.

"It's all in the past Tonks." Harry said tiredly, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. "Just let it go, those days are over now."

"No Harry." Mrs. Weasley responded, placing a steaming bowl of fish stew and a hunk of steaming bread on the table next to him. "I think I, for one, have been letting this go for far too long. If you don't want to talk about the cupboard-"

"He's bloody well going to talk about it!" Tonks snapped, and Mrs. Weasley shot her a look.

"-just yet." She continued. "Answer me this. Just how often are you denied meals at that house?"

Harry sighed miserably. "Not that often anymore, they just keep me in my room all the time and so they usually remember to feed me once or twice a day."

"That's what the cat-flap is for, then." Tonks murmured, half to herself. She sighed. "Oh Harry, why haven't you _told_ anyone?"

"Because it's _not_ important!" Harry snapped. "That's not who I am, I'm not some abused child to be pitied, and even if I had gone out of my way to tell everyone everything that has ever been done to me by the Dursleys, what would it change? Dumbledore would still make me go back there every summer, and you lot might try intimidating them again, but that will only accomplish so much anyway, and people would just view me more than ever as a child unable to protect himself and what _little_ headway I've been making would be erased!"

"But you _are_ a-" Mrs. Weasley began, her tone a welter of pity, concern, anger, and about half a dozen other emotions Harry was having trouble identifying.

"No, Molly." Tonks cut in, prompting a glare from the older woman. "He's right." Harry sighed in relief. "Well, maybe not _right_, but correct, to an extent." Now they were both frowning at Tonks, who was still looking intently at Harry, her eyes somewhat softened by understanding. "You're not an abused little boy, anymore than you're a perfect hero." She laughed softly, sadly. "But in the end, being seen as the first would be even harder than the second for you, wouldn't it?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably and nodded. Mrs. Weasley looked as if she had somehow lost the thread of the conversation and was searching desperately to find it again. "Look, Tonks... What you all did for me at the station this summer helped. And after what happened with Dudley and then this," Harry touched his throat and winced, wishing he hadn't. "I had a talk with them, made them understand better what was going on and where we all stood. You should've seen them tonight." He snorted, chuckling. "Being _polite_ to Dumbledore, and they've just been ignoring me all day, and thanks to the Minister when Vernon tried to lock me in last night I explained how that wasn't going to be happening anymore." _Especially since, no matter what I'm saying right now or what you and Dumbledore think, I'm not going back there again._ "So please, just let it go. It's not worth you getting fired, Tonks, or you getting in trouble, Mrs. Weasley. It's all over now."

Mrs. Weasley looked doubtful, Tonks even moreso, but they both seemed to realize that was all they were getting. For now at least. Apparently deciding it was time to change the subject, Mrs. Weasley prompted Harry to eat, and Tonks took her leave, with one last concerned look at the Boy Who Lived. Harry was just finishing his dinner when there was another knock at the door. After an exchange of questions, including learning something about the Weasleys' sex life Harry really thought he could have done without, Arthur Weasley entered the kitchen, grinning and shaking Harry's hand after planting a fond kiss on his wife.

"So Harry, I see you're here rather early. Everything went well with Slughorn then," Harry didn't miss the obvious tone of dislike in the wizard's voice. "I take it?"

"Who?" Harry asked thoughtlessly through his last mouthful of bread. Both Weasleys looked at him in confusion.

"The new teacher, Harry." Mrs. Weasley interjected. "Albus told us you two would be persuading him to come work at Hogwarts this year before he brought you here."

"Oh..." Harry hesitated. "That... You see, I hadn't known the Headmaster had anyone in mind so, uh... I took the liberty of securing a well qualified D.A.D.A. Professor myself." Mrs. Weasley looked at him disapprovingly, and Mr. Weasley's tone wasn't much better when he replied.

"Yes, Harry. We've all heard about your meeting with the Minister. Albus told us he'd be correcting you on your presumption there. You're saying he changed his mind?"

"Er... Yes." Harry could feel his face heating, though he wasn't entirely sure whether it was embarrassment or outright shame. Either way, the increasing chill of Mrs. Weasley's stare was certainly pushing him toward the latter. "We had..." He sighed, not wanting to lie anymore, especially to the heads of the family that had been so kind to him since the moment he'd first stepped into this other world, this realer world. "We had an argument." Mrs. Weasley gasped, and now Mr. Weasley was matching his wife's air of disapproval, with interest. "He... He came around to my point of view on it, I guess you could say."

"I think you're head's getting a little too big for your shoulders, Harry Potter." Mrs. Weasley sniffed. "Honestly, thinking you can dictate to Albus Dumbledore what he can and can't do at his school and-"

"It's not _his_ school!" Harry snapped, slapping his hand down on the table in front of him. There was a shocked silence, no one more shocked than Harry himself. Where had that come from? He closed his eyes, not wanting to meet the stares of these kind people. "Look I, I'm sorry." He sighed miserably. "I didn't mean to yell at you. But it just makes me so _angry_!"

"You have to understand, Harry." Mr. Weasley answered, his tone rather lacking in gentleness, it was more a command than an entreaty. "Albus is seeing the big picture here, what he does, whether smaller people like you and me like it or not at the moment, is for the good of everybody."

"I think he sees the big picture too much sometimes, Mr. Weasley. I think sometimes he starts to forget that it's made up of _real_ people who are going to _really_ die..." Harry didn't miss it as Mrs. Weasley looked away then. Following her eyes, he saw the Weasley family clock in a basket of washing, and saw where all the hands on it were pointed. "I couldn't agree with him on this, not on Snape of all people teaching the most important class at Hogwarts."

"Harry, Snape is on our side, please tell me you haven't started doubting that again." Mr. Weasley said tiredly.

"No, Mr. Weasley... That's not the point. I know you've heard every child you've had complain about how Snape teaches, and I know you've heard it from me too... We're not exaggerating." Harry sank his head into his hands, not wanting to look at them, not wanting to see their expressions, not wanting to feel like he'd let them down somehow, when all he'd been trying to do was look after his friends, their children. "Even if whatever the Headmaster was planning is directly linked to defeating Voldemort," He didn't see the wince, but he knew it was there. "It would have to lead to it almost immediately for it to be worth it in this case, to my view at least."

"Just because you don't want to have Professor Snape teaching you in your favorite class doesn't mean-"

"That's not the point, Mrs. Weasley. I'm already better at Defence than most adults, and you both know that. But Ron isn't, and neither is Ginny, and you _know_ they're not going to stay out of the war, don't you?" Mrs. Weasley started to answer, but Harry quickly cut her off. "I know you want them to, Ma'am. I do too, they're two of my best friends, and I tried, tried hard to leave them behind last year but they wouldn't listen. They're going to get involved if this stretches on past next year, and I don't want to lose either of them, and that means I want them to have the best teaching they possibly can in how to defend themselves. Headmaster Dumbledore is too busy with his big picture to see that as being of value compared to whatever he's trying to accomplish, and in a way I can respect that, but I can't agree with it, and I can't support it."

"So you just said you disagreed and he caved in to you then?" Mr. Weasley asked, not unsuspiciously.

"No..." Harry replied, miserably. He suddenly felt hot shame as he remembered how he'd acted toward the old wizard. "I... I threatened him." He sighed. "With the Prophet, and the Minister, and the Governors."

"HARRY POTTER!" Snarled Mrs. Weasley in a tone he'd only heard directed at her own children before, and even then, never this intense. "HOW _DARE_ YOU THINK TO THREAT-"

"Molly." Interrupted Mr. Weasley, calmly but forcefully. "Let me, please." Harry felt a chill. Mrs. Weasley's tone he'd heard before, this one, however, was entirely new. He'd always perceived the father of the Weasley family as being a somewhat foolish, if kind and caring man. Right now though, Arthur Weasley was talking with the cold, authoritative voice of a father. The kind of voice you couldn't help but obey. "Harry. Look at me." Harry did so, letting his hands drop. Mr. Weasley was looking at him frankly, his eyes full of disappointment and restrained anger.

"I don't approve, at all. Not of you trying to tell Albus Dumbledore what to do, and especially not of you trying to use such Slytherin tactics to do so. Albus knows better than you or I or anyone what needs to be done to win this war, and I think it would be best if you apologized to him, and didn't try to ever do something like this again." He sighed, tiredly. "That said, I'm not going to force you to, and neither Molly nor I are going to bring this up again." Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth at that, Harry thought quite probably to tell Mr. Weasley he was mistaken, but Mr. Weasley just gave her shoulder a squeeze and she subsided for the moment. "I say we're not going to bring it up again. Not because we agree, because we don't, and we never will."

"But..." Harry asked, his voice uncomfortably dry in his throat. "Why, then?"

"Because Molly and I are feuding with one son already, and I don't think either of us could bear another. Now. You're in Fred and George's room, I think it would be best if you went to bed."

Harry nodded miserably, stood, and turned to leave the room. He stopped at the threshold, unable to look at them, but unable to leave without saying something either. "I'm sorry if I've disappointed you, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. I'm trying my best to do what's right, it's all I know how to do, it's all I _can_ do. But still, I'm sorry that I've disappointed you in doing it."

"Goodnight Harry." Mrs. Weasley said, her voice did not have forgiveness in it, but it still had love, and in the end, that mattered more than anything to Harry. He went to Fred and George's room, his mind and heart churning with all the conflicts he was barely managing to keep contained. He was happy, happier than he'd thought possible, that the Weasleys actually did consider him a... a... He couldn't even seem to think the word all the way, too afraid of losing it, or worse, of loving them too much and bringing misfortune on them because of it. Still, it was heavily tempered by the way it had come out, and by the friction he felt with these kind and wonderful people, and the fact that though he might want to, he still would not have done anything differently tonight. He was alienating the people around him who meant the most, and he couldn't help but do it, because otherwise he'd know he hadn't been doing his all to protect them.

With a miserable sigh, Harry pulled his robe off and tossed it in the corner. Next came his shirt and tie, followed by his pants. He hadn't bothered with underwear, he didn't have any of his own, and he refused to wear Dudley's. Laid out on the bed in front of him were a pair of bright green pyjamas he thought he'd seen before on one or the other of the twins. These, at least, were castoffs he was happy to wear. He stepped into the pants part and had them halfway pulled up around his knees when a very familiar voice spoke from behind him, just next to the door.

"You know, if you don't fold and hang that stuff up its going to get all wrinkly."

Harry gasped and jerked the pants up. Unfortunately, he'd been still standing on one of the legs, and thus, he managed to jerk the fabric out from under him. He hit the floor, still struggling to cover himself, and a moment later, thankfully succeeded. Straightening his glasses, he looked for the source of the intruding voice, though he already thought he'd recognized it. "Tonks!" He snarled. "What are you doing?!"

"Shhh." Tonks hissed, grinning playfully. "Don't want Molly catching me in here with you or who knows _what_ she'll think." She managed to keep a straight face a moment longer, before finally dissolving into a brief and muffled, but still quite violet fit of giggles. "Really, Harry." She gasped, wiping her eyes. "I didn't know you could _turn_ that color." She grinned and leaned back against the wall, sitting on the floor with one knee tucked up and her arms wrapped around it. On the one hand, Harry found he was glad to see her smiling again. On the other, he wasn't so happy that it was his own embarrassment that had brought on her good mood.

"What _are_ you doing in here, anyway?" Harry hissed, remembering to keep his voice down and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I wanted to ask you something, actually." The smile had faded, and Harry found he'd preferred it, no matter what the reason. "But first... Weren't you listening to me when I warned about meddling in the affairs of powerful wizards?"

Harry nodded and groaned. "Please don't you start in on me too, Tonks. I did what I had to do."

The Auror shook her head. "I'm not starting in on you, Harry. Hell, to be honest, I don't even disagree with you, I don't know what the Hell Dumbledore's thinking trying to weaken his own power base like that... But it's not for me to know his motives, just to do what he says." For some reason, Harry didn't like that, not at all. "But that wasn't my point. Don't think for a second that he's going to just let you get away with this, either."

"You think he's going to find a way to keep Snape D.A.D.A. teacher and hire Slughorn anyway?"

Tonks thought that over for a moment, then shook her head. "No. He gave you his word. Maybe not outright, but you won, whether he let you or not. He'll let your candidate teach. But he'll get you back for it all the same." She scratched at her head, leaving streaks of bright yellow behind her fingers. "My guess would be probably by going after your own support base. Keep an eye on whatever Ministry and Prophet contacts you've got, they can be expecting trouble from Albus Dumbledore or the members of the Order in one way or another, and probably sooner rather than later."

Harry nodded, he didn't really _have_ any contacts, other than Scrimgeour... But despite her friendly tone and her warning, he wasn't going to forget that Tonks was still a member of the Order, and it wouldn't be wise to tell her that either. She seemed to sense some of his distrust, and the smile she gave him was oddly approving. "Anyway, that wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about."

Tonks stood, stumbled, and caught herself on the bedside table just as Harry managed to get a hand on her shoulder. She straightened and smiled appreciatively at him. The smile faded quickly though, and her dark eyes seemed to gauge him, almost glowing slightly in the dim starlight of the room. "You're not for a minute planning on going back to Little Whinging next summer." It obviously wasn't a question.

"Well I.." Harry panicked. How the bloody hell had he been caught out so quick? "Of course I wouldn't go against Dumbledore on something so-" Tonks raised a hand, and he quieted.

"Don't lie Harry, please. You're complete pants at it anyway." Harry opened his mouth to protest, though whether continuing in the vein of denying her accusation or arguing that he could lie quite well at times, he wasn't sure. She cut him off before he could really start, anyway. "I'm not going to tell anyone. I just wanted to be sure, and now I am."

"Tonks..." He said imploringly. "If Dumbledore finds out I've even _thought_ of going against him on this it'll be a disaster. He's convinced I need to be there."

Tonks nodded and turned toward the window. She looked almost ethereal, her pale skin and dark eyes contrasting in the soft white light, the streaks of blond in her hair shining brightly against the dark brown. Her expression was unreadable, but not unkind. "I'm sure Dumbledore has his reasons, Harry. Hell, I'm even sure they're good ones. Just this once though, I have to disagree with him." She shot him a sly grin. "I'm sure you can understand. And while I'm either not ballsy enough or not stupid enough to go right up against him like _some_ young wizards I know... I'm not going to support him in something I disagree with, I'll leave that kind of mindset to the Death Eaters, thank you very much." She moved toward the window and began unlatching it.

"Tonks..." Harry ventured softly. "Why do you care?"

She was quiet for a long time, idly playing with the latch. When she spoke, she didn't look at him. Instead, she seemed to lose herself in the words momentarily. "I was eight years old when Harry Potter saved us all from You-know-wh.." She trailed off, steeled herself. "From Voldemort. I'd known, really known about him, for three years at that point. My Mum didn't want to tell me at first, but Dad figured I had a right to know. He wanted me to really understand, right from the start, how bloody stupid and insane the whole thing was, that this powerful wizard who had so many followers wanted to kill little kids like me just because he didn't like where their parents or their grandparents had come from. "

Harry settled back, listening curiously. People always told him they were so happy he'd done, or actually, his mother had done what she'd done. Nobody ever seemed to want to talk about what it was really like though, before. They just said it was frightening and wanted to leave it at that.

"I was scared. But more, I was angry. I'd never done nothing to him or his lot, and neither had me Dad. And he wanted to kill us just the same, because Dad was a muggleborn instead of being from some long line of inbred wizards with old money and an old name, because he thought being pureblood made him more of a person than we were."

"He's not." Harry interrupted, without really thinking about it.

"What?" Tonks turned, confusion writ large across her face.

"Tom Riddle is a half-blood." Harry snorted softly. "Actually, by what I understand from some rants I've heard, his blood is even less "pure" than ours, his father was a muggle."

Tonks eyes widened, though with sudden understanding more than with shock. "And you're telling me Tom Riddle is..?"

"Voldemort's real name."

Tonks was quiet at that, though she nodded slightly. "It explains some things if you think about it like that, though. Still..." She smiled fondly at Harry. "Back to what I was saying." Harry nodded eagerly, suddenly feeling a bit chagrined at having interrupted her. Tonks looked away again, for some reason not wanting to meet his eyes as she spoke. Maybe, Harry reflected, because she didn't like thinking about being young and helpless anymore than he did. "I spent three years knowing about the whole thing, knowing that if he won we'd all three wind up being executed sooner or later, Dad and me for our heritage, Mum for being a blood-traitor. I had nightmares, of course, I think all the kids who knew had nightmares, even the teenagers. Then, all of a sudden, Harry Potter saved us, saved the world."

Harry gritted his teeth at that, wanting to protest that his Mum had really done it, that he'd just been a baby. Wanting to tell her not to feel like she owed him anything for it, especially since he'd only done the job halfway anyhow. But he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to interrupt again, trusting that she was going somewhere with this.

"So I, like everybody else, adopted Harry Potter as my hero." She laughed softly. "For a while it was even fashionable to have a little scar like yours spelled on your forehead. I think I kept mine longer than anybody else I knew." Harry felt a chill at the very thought. "But anyway... I never forgot what Harry Potter did. Harry Potter saved us, muggleborn and half-blood and pureblood alike, from the Dark. He protected people he didn't know, because he was a hero." Tonks smiled into the window and closed her eyes. Harry wasn't sure if she was aware of it or not, but her hair had started to color in her favorite shade of pink, and to spike up... Rather like his.

"I wanted to be just like him." She admitted, the blush evident in her voice, even if it wasn't visible in the dim light. "I wanted to protect innocent people and fight Dark Wizards and be a hero too. I think... No, I know, that's what started me wanting to be an Auror." Now Harry had no idea _what_ to say. "But then, about a year ago, something else happened." Harry tried to remember, but all he was coming up with was Cedric's death.

"You mean, when Voldemort came back?"

Tonks looked at him, her expression unaccountably sad. "No. Well, that happened, but it's not what I meant. No, I met this boy.." She paused, then grinned crookedly at him. "This young man rather, boy doesn't really fit him, I guess. At first I didn't really see him, or notice him, I just saw Harry Potter the way everybody else did. But then I started to listen to the way his friends and the people who really loved him for who he was talked about him. About how he was kind, but had a temper. About how he was loyal, but sometimes got too wrapped up in his problems to be as good a friend as he wanted to. About how he forced himself to be brave even when he was scared witless. About how he was sweet, but he'd been hurt so much by so many different people." She sighed, and Harry was glad now it was too dim for _her_ to see _him_ blushing. He was also glad she seemed content to do all the talking, because he wasn't sure how to respond to any of what she was saying.

"And I remembered the way he'd been as impressed by my being an Auror as I was by him being who he was, and remembered that an Auror is only what I do, not who I am. So, yesterday, I met him again, and I talked to him, and I realized I wanted to be his friend. Not because he was Harry Potter, but because he was Harry, and I liked Harry a lot for all the reasons I listed and a lot more I didn't."

"Thank you Tonks..." Harry said softly. "That means a lot to me... But I don't understand what-"

Tonks opened the window and looked over her shoulder at him. "Simple thing, Harry. I don't let people fuck with my friends and get away with it." She turned and put one foot on the window sill and then paused, looking over her shoulder at him with that predatory smile he remembered from the day before. "Oh, and Harry? If you're serious about not wanting to get involved with Ginny..." She chuckled softly. "Make sure you don't let her see you undressing in the locker rooms. Let her get one good look at that cute bum or... shall we say your 'other physical advantages,' and she'll _never_ leave off chasing you. Night." Tonks winked and then leaped out the window.

Harry darted after her, whether to stop her from hurting herself or try again to persuade her to leave the Dursleys alone he wasn't sure, but he was too slow for either. By the time he reached the window she was already halfway across the yard, zig-zagging and circling quickly, to avoid tripping wards he supposed. He watched as she reached the edge of the yard and Disapparated, then leaned his head against the sill with a sigh. Still, he couldn't help but grin a little. He had to trust Tonks to take care of herself, but he was sure it was going to be an unpleasant year for the Dursleys.

"Night Tonks..." Harry said softly, then turned back to the bed. He was still blushing furiously from that last comment and rubbing at his cheeks. "Bloody woman thinks she's _so_ funny..." He muttered, then flopped down heavily on the lumpy but wonderfully comfortable mattress.

It was nearly impossible for him to get to sleep, too many emotions and thoughts were built up inside him. Finally, not knowing what else to do, he began trying to clear his mind, as Snape had instructed him to last year. Eventually, he drifted off without even realizing it. That night, thankfully, he did not dream.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Harry woke as the sun shone in through the open curtains and snuffled sleepily into his pillow. His immediate impulse was to fall back asleep, but as memories from the night before began resurfacing, he quickly realized that wasn't going to happen. With a sigh he sat up, felt around on the table for his glasses, then blinked a few times to clear his vision once they were on. The house was moderately quiet, so he assumed the younger Weasleys weren't up yet, thus, he made his way to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and enjoyed the sort of leisurely shower that was so rare in a house this full. After that he made his way to the kitchen, and paused on the threshold.

Mrs. Weasley was preparing breakfast, Mr. Weasley having apparently left already, by the empty coffee cup and rifled Prophet on the table. Harry hesitated for a moment, and Mrs. Weasley, with that parental sixth sense, glanced up at him. For a moment she just looked at him, then turned away and went back to cooking. Something inside Harry throbbed, and his immediate impulse was to run back to Fred and George's room and hide in the bedclothes. Instead, he walked further into the kitchen and looked about. Mrs. Weasley was selecting eggs and sausages, and by the pile of vegetables, Harry assumed she meant to make an omelet. Without a word, he went to the pile, rinsed a knife and began dicing vegetables.

They both worked in silence, and before long the food was nearly ready. Mrs. Weasley loudly called out a general warning that breakfast was on, and was rewarded a moment later with the thunder of oncoming footsteps. Harry, meanwhile, set out plates and cups and started over toward his seat. For just a moment, Mrs. Weasley's hand rested on his shoulder and gave it a fond squeeze. The pain inside disappeared, and Ron, Ginny and Hermione came in to a smiling Harry sitting at the table, sifting through the servette for the best pieces of bacon.

"Oi mate!" Ron stalled in the doorway, getting a thump in the ribs from Ginny for his trouble. "When did you get in?"

"Late last night," Harry answered with a casual grin. "Hello Hermione, hi Ginny."

"Harry!" Hermione greeted him happily, hugging him affectionately around the shoulders on her way to her own seat. Ginny merely smiled at him, and as always, Harry was relieved not to see her face go pink and her eyes go stupidly adoring as they had always used to.. Still, there was a certain sparkle there that was rarely present when the Weasley daughter wasn't looking at him that he wished would go away as well. Thinking on those lines brought back Tonks' parting shot from the night before, and Harry quickly buried his face in a glass of pumpkin juice to hide any residual blushing. _Bloody woman, she did that on purpose, didn't she?_

Ron had dived head first into his plate, as was usual for him, but since Hermione and Ginny still retained table manners, that allowed for some conversation as Mrs. Weasley cleaned up.

"So, Harry, how has your summer been?" Hermione asked with, Harry thought, undue interest. He glanced at her, and saw that she was looking at him intently, trying to decipher some meaning from his expression or the tone of his skin perhaps. It took him a moment to realize what she was concerned about, and though it saddened him somewhat as it always did when he was reminded of Sirius' death, he couldn't help but smile a bit. It was good to have friends who cared about you.

"Oh, you know. Been with the muggles, putting up with Dudley when I had to, did what homework I thought I could get away with and not get punished for," He said casually, slicing up a sausage. "Met with the Minister of Magic. The usual."

Ron began to choke on something, Hermione looked taken aback, and Ginny just looked proud, as well as amused by Ron's reaction. Mrs. Weasley shot Harry a mildly angry look, but the fact that she was standing there was part of why he'd brought it up just now. He hoped she'd listen all the way through to what he had to say. The thought crossed his mind that some might accuse him of this being a bit of a Slytherin tactic... Then he re-thought it. Why should planning ahead be anti-Gryffindor? His House was supposed to be brave, not _stupid_.

"Really, Harry? Are you sure that's a good idea?" Hermione asked. "The Ministry hasn't shown much in the way of common sense or decency of late."

"Bunch of bastards is what they've been." Ron said lowly, but not low enough to avoid a cuff on the back of the head from his mother.

"I know." Harry began to explain, taking a bite before he continued. "But Scrimgeour wants to change that. He's decided if he's going to be fighting Voldemort, then it'd probably be wise to have me clearly on his side."

"He just wants to use you though!" Ginny protested. "Everyone thinks so!" Harry wondered just who 'everyone' was, though he found it interesting that the youngest Weasley seemed better informed than her brother, who was still slowly recovering from the idea of Harry meeting with the Minister of Magic.

"Of course he does." Harry readily agreed.

"Well then why would you let him?" Hermione asked, tilting her head and continuing to probe him with her eyes. He sensed she had a half idea already of his answer, and he smiled at her.

"I don't mind being used so much, as long as I agree with what I'm being used for. I've got my uses for him, too."

"Which, you realize, he's probably quite aware of." Hermione continued for him, and Harry couldn't help but grin.

"Of course. I think when you boil it down far enough, that's what politics really is, isn't it?" Hermione looked surprisingly approving at that, though Ron seemed a bit worried.

"You sure you're not getting in over your head, Harry?" Harry shrugged.

"I probably am, but that's one way of learning how to swim, right?"

"Bit dangerous of a thing to be playing at, the fate of the world." Ron argued disapprovingly.

"I'm not playing, Ron. But I'm not going to just sit by anymore either. I know very well I'm not ready to try running everything myself." Harry made a face. "I don't think I'd be ready for that ever, or want to. But I do know one thing..."

"And what is that, Harry?" Now it was Mrs. Weasley asking, for which Harry found himself thankful. It was to her that he addressed his reply, looking into the motherly woman's eyes and pleading with his own that she try to understand.

"We're all divided against each other. The Ministry, Dumbledore and his crowd, and the rest of the people who want Voldemort stopped but are afraid to do anything themselves... And that does nothing but play into his hands." Harry sighed, swirling food around with his fork. "I don't want this, I never wanted the spotlight, but I'm going to have it whether I want it or not. Only so many people are willing to follow the Headmaster, and only so many people are willing to follow the Minister." He closed his eyes, feeling blood rushing to his face at what he was about to say.

"People will follow me though, or at least listen to me, because of who I am. Nobody's rushing to elect me Minister or anything, but if I say the Ministry's got it right or Dumbledore's got it right, then they listen, and some more agree who wouldn't have otherwise... The best thing I can do right now, until the Prophet decides I'm a liar or a fiend again anyway, is try to bridge the gap between Dumbledore and the Ministry. We can't afford to fight each other over little things when we've got a much more important enemy who needs dealing with." He managed to push his eyes open, and tried to take in the reactions around him. Ginny looked like she thought he was the best wizard ever of course, but that was to be expected. Hermione was looking at him as if she'd never quite seen him in this light before, and she approved of it. Mrs. Weasley didn't look like she knew quite what to think, but at least there wasn't so much of that awful anger and disapproval there.

It was Ron, however, who spoke first. "Alright, who are you and where's Harry Potter?" Harry laughed and lowered his head, feeling much more comfortable all of a sudden. Ron had always been good at that.

"It's me Ron, I swear!" He grinned at his oldest friend. "I just... After the end of last year..." He looked away. Hermione reached over and patted his back reassuringly, Ron thumped him bracingly on the shoulder.

"We understand, Harry." He assured him. "You need to do something, right? Instead of just waiting for things to happen and trying to make it up as you go along once they do." Harry felt a stab of pain at hearing it put that way, but he knew what Ron was getting at, and the appreciation outweighed it.

"Yeah." Harry responded quietly. "And this is the best thing I can think of right now."

"So what does Scrimgeour want you to do?" Hermione asked, easing them all past the awkward moment.

"Funny you should ask, Hermione." Harry looked back and forth between his best friends. "I need your help for the first thing, which was an idea he and I sort of came up with together."

"You know we're always glad to help, Harry!" Ron responded instantly.

"What can we do?" Hermione asked right on his heels.

"Can I help?" Ginny added quickly, obviously not wanting to be left out. Despite his slight discomfort around her, which had been greatly amplified this morning thanks to Tonks, Harry would never forget the way Ginny had first demanded to go with him to the Department of Mysteries, and then the way the fiery young woman had handled herself all the way through that terrible ordeal. He owed her better than to treat her like a hanger-on.

"Well, for starters... Do any of you know how to make that potion Colin uses to develop his pictures?"

"'Arry! Ees 'zat really you!?" Ron's face suddenly went all over stupid, whereas between Hermione and the two Weasley women, Harry thought the temperature in the cozy, welcoming kitchen had suddenly dropped a good fifteen degrees. He prepared himself for a moment, and then looked up at the doorway.

It wasn't enough. He felt his own jaw trying to go slack as he beheld the vision that was Fleur Delacour, and settled for a dopey smile as she flowed across the room and embraced him tightly, kissing him on either cheek.

"Oh 'Arry! Eet is so good to see you again! My seester, Gabrielle and I 'ave bos 'sought of you so often and warmly since last we met!" Harry's stupid grin widened all on its own, and he nodded appreciatively.

"It's, uh, good seeing you again too, Fleur. What are you doing here?"

"'Zey have not told you?" She looked around disapprovingly at all the other people in the kitchen, particularly at Mrs. Weasley, then sniffed. "My Bill and I are to be married!"

"Oh!" Harry blinked, feeling a slight pang of jealousy that he reassured himself was just the veela magic. "Congratulations! Bill's uh, a wonderful fellow. I'm very happy for you." More kisses from Fleur, Harry was fairly sure his brain was actually _melting_.

"Oh 'sank you 'Arry! You will come, yes?"

"Yes? Yes, of course!" Harry nodded until he pulled something in his neck. "I'll be happy to be there." Again the kisses. Yes, his brain was definitely melting, and starting to run down the back of his neck. He was mildly concerned he'd begin drooling in a moment, but thankfully...

"Ah, but look at ze time! I must go, 'zey all tell me 'zat Greengott's is such a happier place wiz' me 'zere. How can I disappoint my co-workers?" With that, she floated out of the kitchen again, and Harry was conflicted. Glad to feel his brain starting to reform, but sad no longer to be in the presence of such intoxicating beauty. He grunted as he felt an elbow drive into his ribs, and heard an echo from Ron as Hermione did to him what Ginny just had to Harry.

"Honestly, the both of you." Hermione scoffed, and Harry sighed.

"We can't help it, Hermione, really." He protested. "Can you help it when someone puts the body-bind on you? It's magic!" Hermione did not look in the slightest bit pacified, and Mrs. Weasley seemed even more annoyed than the two younger women, and with a sniff, stormed off to another part of the house.

"She's miserable with Phlegm around," Ginny sighed. "I think she's trying to break them up before she has to spend the rest of her life dealing with the silly swot. That's must be why she keeps inviting Tonks over, hoping Bill will fall for her instead."

"I don't think that's very likely, Ginny." Harry cautioned, remembering his conversation with the Auror from two days previous. It was _possible_, of course, but he didn't remember Bill being active in the Order, and the eldest Weasley certainly wasn't an Auror. Also, he thought Tonks would have more sense than to pursue and engaged man.

"Too right!" Ron agreed quickly. "How could anyone even _notice_ someone like Tonks with Fleur around?" He blinked as three sets of angry eyes, two brown and one green, all focused on him at once.

"Tonks is smarter!" Hermione snapped.

"She's also a hell of a lot nicer!" Ginny agreed.

"And she's definitely-" Harry started, without even thinking about it, then stopped dead. Some things you did not say out loud, especially in front of your best friends and girls who had crushes on you. He was sure Tonks would probably be glad he found her sexier than Phle- Fleur, but it was probably better for his sanity and general well-being that she never find out. "Just, well, a lot better!" He concluded, lamely.

Ron looked completely mystified by the fact that Harry hadn't agreed with him. Ginny looked approving. Hermione, however, looked at him curiously. Harry had a feeling she was about to ask him a question he definitely did not want to answer, but luckily, he had the perfect gambit to distract his brilliant, if slightly neurotic friend. "Hey, aren't our O.W.L. scores due today?"

In the midst of the twenty minute Hermione Granger Panic Attack that followed, all debate about Fleur versus Tonks was forgotten, though perhaps not entirely by Harry. Eventually, as they calmed Hermione down, she moaned out that she'd get nothing done the rest of the day for worry. Harry, however, had a cure for this problem as well. The rest of the day was spent in working on his little project.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Harry?" Hermione was actually chewing on a lock of her hair, and looking at her wand indecisively.

"It's alright, Hermione. This was one of the things I talked about with the Minister, it's actually part of the point of what we're doing. You won't get in any trouble as long as you don't start hexing people or doing anything else well out of line, I promise. If you do, I'll argue for you in front of the Wizengamot myself."

"Alright..." She took a deep breath, extended her wand, and with deft precision, made the proper movements with the accompanied shout, "_Expelliarmus!"_

There was a bright flash, and Ginny called, "Got it! Two more to be sure!"

"You want a go this time, Ron?" Harry asked.

"You're joking right? Do I want to do magic outside school with full Ministry approval? Bloody right!"

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

By the time the O.W.L. scores came, they'd accomplished everything Harry needed done, and he was using a bit of spellotape to put his rough draft together. Hermione had begun panicking again, and Ron was playing things off. However, as Harry attached a photo to the parchment upside-down, he realized he was having a bit of nerves as well. Unfortunately, as he looked at his scores, he realized they hadn't been unwarranted. The O in Defence he'd expected, as well as the poor scores in Astronomy and Divination. It was, however, the Potions score he could not rip his eyes away from.

Potions: E

_That's it then,_ He told himself. _You knew this was coming. Nothing to be done about it. Not the end of the world, no, that'll come later if you let little things like this distract you too much._ Harry fetched a sigh, and tried to pretend like it didn't matter to him. He mostly pulled it off, though Hermione had begun to give him those searching looks again by dinner.

So, he wasn't going to be an Auror. He could live with that. He could. But it still hurt inside, knowing that the only goal he'd ever really set himself, without pressure from the world or his friends or anyone else, he'd failed at. It hurt like Hell.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

**Author's Notes:** First off, I'm sorry this update came later than you, my loyal readers, have come to expect from me. I don't make excuses, but the reasons were writer's block one day, then lack of computer access the next. The daily updating is a hard schedule to keep to, and I hope you won't all be too disappointed in me if every few chapters it takes a few days to get one out. Honestly, this will probably grow more frequent as I go, because that first burst of creative enthusiasm has faded and now I'm settling down to real storytelling. I could have probably pushed this one out the first day, but it wouldn't have been any good at all. It isn't my best work anyway, but it does what I wanted to get done, and I don't want to spend four weeks trying to get a chapter perfectly fine-tuned, especially when most of my chapters tend to be less than 10,000 words. Still, don't worry, I'm not going to give up on this and leave you forever wondering what's happened. You've all been too kind to me both in compliments and constructive comments for me to let you down like that.

Moving on... I've got the stage just about set now. There's a couple more chapters to go accomplishing a few things I want to get in place, and then we'll be getting to the start of the term, and more importantly, the start of the real plot. You might have made some guesses as to what's coming, and one or two might even be right. However, I warn you, dear reader, we have a long road ahead of us, and there are going to be twists and bumps you won't see coming. So keep on this journey with me, and enjoy the ride.

You keep reading, I'll keep writing.


	6. The Pamphlet and Presents

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and his world are the intellectual property of the wonderful Mrs. J.K. Rowling, and she has my eternal thanks, both for all the joy she has provided me and the permission she's given her fans to play with her toys.

**Credit:** I used the Harry Potter Lexicon (hp-lexicon.info) for the pronunciations in this chapter.

**Chapter Six - The Pamphlet and Presents**

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic, stared at the piece of parchment in front of him with no expression whatsoever. While the set of his face gave nothing away, the slowly darkening shade of his skin was a warning to anyone who knew the old Auror well. He gave it its fair read, then began slashing comments and outright insults onto the page with his quill, muttering darkly the whole way. Azkaban had become a problem, that was undeniable. And while there had been many excellent suggestions, some of which were being implemented at this very moment, the utter fools who'd written variations on this exact idea before him were numerous, and edging on driving Rufus to drink. This was the fifth of its kind he'd received this week, and he was not optimistic enough to think it would be the last, either. The bloody fools wanted him to try to entice the Dementors back! This particular moron was suggesting he allow all prisoners to be given the Kiss, thus rewarding the monsters for service.

"Yes," He snarled softly. "Let's start punishing vandalism and petty theft with losing your soul, that's an excellent idea that will go over extremely well, I'm sure." After slicing his name into the bottom of the page he folded it up and hurled it away from him, the rather crumpled aeroplane winging its way back to where it had come from. Scrimgeour was seriously considering the bottle in his bottom drawer, which was there only for office celebrations, when a soft, unfamiliar hoot brought his attention back to the world around him.

A beautiful, snowy white owl had just entered his office. Rufus extended his arm to receive the missive, but rather than flying straight toward him, the lovely bird winged over to where Lazarus was perched and fluttered her wings, landing next to Scrimgeour's own, dignified familiar. Lazarus hooted happily and ruffled the new owl's feathers, and in a moment both avians were winging circles around his office, hooting to one another and weaving patterns through the air. Scrimgeour watched all this for a few moments, bemused, then cleared his throat as they both landed once more on the edge of his desk.

"Did your girlfriend have a letter for me, Laz? Or did she just drop by for a little early morning nuzzle?" Lazarus looked offended, and the new bird hooted sheepishly, hopping over to him and dropping a bundle of parchment. Scrimgeour picked it up, then glanced again at the owls, both of whom seemed to be waiting. "Alright, alright. But be back in an hour." With a burst of black and white feathers, the messengers took off and Rufus gave an amused shake of his head before setting his mind to what lay in front of him.

_**Six Spells You Need to Know**_

_**by Harry Potter**_

_**Brought to you in association with the Ministry of Magic**_

Rufus blinked, then immediately focused all of his concentration on the proposed pamphlet, a smile first forming on his craggy features, then widening more and more as he read.

_**Dear Reader,**_

_**As you know, we are living in Dark times. The Ministry and I are doing our best to protect you from Voldemort and his minions, and we realize that this not only includes the actions of Aurors and officials, but also giving you every tool we can to protect yourself. Some of you may have friends or relatives who were members of my Defence Alliance last year, or who heard about it. Contained within the following pages are a few of the more important spells we went over, as well as a couple of new ones. **_

_**  
Thanks to the Minister's right-mindedness, the complete ban on underage magic outside of Hogwarts has been amended. Students are now allowed to practice certain necessary spells, in order to be as prepared as they possibly can in the unlikely eventuality of a Death Eater attack. Minister Scrimgeour, in his wisdom, agrees fully with me that it's much more important making sure young wizards and witches have all the tools for survival than sticking to outmoded rules, especially ones as unevenly applied as the Ban on Underage Magic is. **_

_**Do not, however, take this as carte blanche to begin casting whatever spell crosses your mind. Doing so will surely get you expelled and your wand snapped. The exception applies only to the necessary Defensive magics that all citizens of Wizarding Britain will need in an attack. If you begin hexing siblings or break the Statute of Secrecy and are punished accordingly, don't come crying to either of us that it isn't fair. This isn't a game, it is deadly serious business. You have been warned.**_

_**For non-magical parents of magical children: Each of these spells are safe to practice in the home. I suggest a basement as the best possibility for practice, but any room in the house will do, with the following caveats. First: Make sure there are no breakable or irreplaceable objects in the room. Second: Make sure your child is provided with an adequate target to practice on, a sizable chunk of stone or hardwood is best for this. Third: Do not practice magic in rooms with large, easily viewable windows, as the flashes of light will most likely attract unwanted attention from your neighbors. Finally: Do not allow your children to practice magic unsupervised, and always have a fire extinguisher and first aid kit handy. While these spells backfiring dangerously are quite unlikely, with magic anything is possible, and you should always be prepared.**_

_**Now that that's all out of the way, let's get to the magic!**_

Rufus chuckled softly, murmuring to himself as he turned. "The boy's got a natural talent for this. Serious enough to get their attention, just the right note of comedy and fun..." He glanced again at the word 'caveat,' and concluded Harry had probably had some help working on this. Most likely from his muggle-born friend, Hermione Granger. The reports he'd received, before putting a firm stop to them, had referred to the girl as "the brains of Potter's posse." Review of her records had shown excellent scores in school and good ratings from all her teachers other than Severus Snape. He also remembered some mention of a relationship between the two from a couple of years ago, and idly wondered if that were still going. "Notice you put your name first, my young friend." Scrimgeour snorted softly, but not unfondly. "We'll see about that in the editing, won't we?"

_**1. The Disarming Spell**_

_**Invocation: Expelliarmus **_

_**Pronounciation: (ex-pel-ee-AR-mus) **_

Rufus blinked at what came next, and then broke out into a grin, remembering his Hogwarts days. One thing in his textbooks had always annoyed him to no end: the static illustrations of wand movement, usually with a dotted line. Many times he'd expressed this irritation to other students and to teachers as well, the best answer he'd ever gotten was that the teachers didn't want students trying new spells on their own, but that had always fallen short to him, because if that was the case, why illustrate at all? It seemed Harry Potter had been as bothered by this flaw as he had. For in the center of the page, spellotaped in place, was a full color wizarding photo. First it showed a close up of a hand moving a wand slowly in the proper pattern, then a true casting of the spell, followed by wider shot of a bushy-haired girl using the spell to disarm Potter himself. The girl smiled triumphantly, then the picture repeated.

_**Harry's Tips: This is a simple enough spell, usually taught to Second Years. For that reason, its often underrated, criminally so, in my opinion. I've personally used it to great effect on everything from other students to Dark Wizards to Voldemort himself. Remember, no wizard, even the most powerful, is much of a threat without his wand. Disarming a Death Eater may just buy you the necessary few seconds to escape with your life intact.**_

Eagerly, Scrimgeour turned the page.

_**2. The Full Body-Bind **_

_**Invocation: Petrificus Totalus**_

_**Pronounciation: (pe-TRI-fi-cus to-TAH-lus)**_

This time it was a red haired wizard who could only be Arthur Weasley's youngest son, using the spell to great effect on Harry and doing a little dance of victory as the other boy toppled over. Scrimgeour found himself impressed by the fact that it was others, and not Harry, demonstrating the spells. It gave the reader reassurance that you didn't need to be Harry Potter to use the magic effectively.

_**Harry's Tips: Another often underrated spell. A lot of people tend to take a "fight fire with fire" mindset when it comes to battling Death Eaters. I argue against this for my readers for two reasons. First, I hope that most of you aren't familiar with Dark and painful curses, and if you aren't, they won't come to your mind as quickly as less directly harmful(but still quite useful!) spells will. Second, never forget that you're fighting to escape and live, not to win. It may seem like a satisfying idea, trying to inflict back some of the pain the Death Eaters have done to so many innocents, but it's not worth getting caught up in revenge and being attacked from behind. Remember that Death Eaters rarely work alone. **_

_**3. The Shield Charm**_

_**Invocation: Protego**_

_**Pronounciation: (pro-TAY-go)**_

Now it was another young woman with red hair, undoubtedly the Weasley daughter, successfully repelling Harry's attack.

_**Harry's Tips: This one can be tough to master, but it's worth the effort. It won't repel every attack, and it can only take a certain amount of damage before it dissolves, but any amount of defence is not to be sniffed at. More than any other spell in this pamphlet, Protego may be the one that makes the difference between life and death for you and your loved ones. Practice it until it's instinctive, and then practice it some more.**_

Scrimgeour nodded approvingly and turned the page again. Here was what he'd been most expecting, and for this one, it _was_ Harry demonstrating the spell. Not, Scrimgeour thought, because his friends weren't capable, but because it had become rather a signature charm for the young man.

_**4. The Patronus Charm**_

_**Invocation: Expecto Patronum**_

_**Pronounciation: (ex-PEK-toh pa-TROH-num)**_

_**Harry's Tips: This is a hard spell to master for many. Not because the magic itself is difficult, but because of the mental requirement associated with the spell. To successfully summon a Patronus, you must bring to mind a truly happy memory. Not the sort of every day happiness you get from seeing a friend or a tasty chocolate frog, but the happiest memory you have. Since the spell is used to ward off Dementors, it may be particularly hard at that moment to come up with that memory, which is why this spell requires much practice. However, even if you never manage to successfully summon a Patronus, do not give up! Just the practice in bringing up that happy memory on command could prove the difference between life and death if you find yourself under attack by Dementors, giving you an instant of clear thought free of their overpowering darkness when you can think of some way to escape.**_

Quickly Rufus glanced over the last two spells, the Stunning Spell with a note on Reenervate, and a page describing how to make the most visible and eye-catching form of wand sparks, including a loud shrieking noise along with them. He was very satisfied, then noticed there was more writing on the back of the last page.

_**We hope that you will find these spells useful, and that you will practice them frequently and in a safe manner. However, please keep something very important in mind every time you go to practice one of the spells from my pamphlet. I did not intend this as a primer on how to battle Death Eaters, just to give you a chance to escape them. No one but an Auror is suited for that kind of combat, and if you come under attack by the minions of Voldemort, RUN! Gather your loved ones and run as fast and as far as you can, only stopping to inform the Ministry of the attack once you're safely away. **_

_**Voldemort is a monster who has already killed enough, do not feed his dark hungers by letting yourself become overconfident. If you want to fight Voldemort, go into Auror training if you're suited to it, argue against the prejudice and intolerance that gives him more ignorant minions if you're not, and most importantly either way, do what I do. Live.**_

_**Sincerely,**_

_**Harry Potter**_

Rufus turned the pamphlet back over, leafed through it a few more times, then finally nodded. There were a few things he wanted to correct, most notably the way Harry more or less made him out into a quiet partner on this, but overall, it was better than he'd hoped for. He made a few notes on it with his quill, then set it in his outbox. That done, he scratched down a brief reply to young Mr. Potter himself, which he had just finished when the owls returned from their mid-morning flight, both seeming quite happy. Scrimgeour attached the note to Potter's owl, gave her a treat, and sent her off again. He didn't miss the way Lazarus watched the smaller, female owl go, then gave a happy little flick of his tail before returning his attention to his master.

"You dog." Scrimgeour joked. The hoot Lazarus gave in reply couldn't be interpereted as anything but self-satisfied.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

_**Harry,**_

_**I find your pamphlet most suitable, most suitable indeed. There are a few edits before the printing, but I expect the first run for it will be done by the end of the month. Speaking of which, I hope you have not forgotten the other terms of our alliance, I most certainly have not. Pursuant to these, I hope you will agree to come to the Ministry at noon on Monday, 5th August, for our first joint conference. I will, in respect to your personal dislikes, be inviting the Quibbler to send a reporter as well as the gaggle we can expect from the Prophet and similar rags. **_

_**In regards to your own needs, I am keeping an ear to the ground concerning new Werewolf legislation, there has been none as of yet, and I hope you will understand my waiting until after our alliance becomes public before I begin to speak out on the topic. Also, I have been in contact with Clover Darkscale and have pressed her into service, you may expect to meet her at start of term, she is certainly anxious to meet you. Finally, as to our other negotiation, all is prepared. **_

_**Rufus**_

As Harry read the letter, he absentmindedly twisted the silver ring where it hung around his neck, turning it over and over on its piece of twine. The ring had been kept as a symbol of their agreement, and in return Harry had sent Rufus a shard of Sirius' mirror. They each had something precious to the other, the way such things were supposed to be. He felt nervous about the upcoming press conference, and knew as the date drew closer it was very likely his feelings would grow to outright stark terror. But all was well, or as well as it could be. He folded the paper up into a ball, tossed it high into the air, and with a quick Incendio, destroyed it.

Hedwig winged away into the distance and he laid back on the grass of the Weasley's back lot, using one arm to half-shield his eyes as Ginny and Ron played catch on their brooms and Hermione sat off to his right, studying a thick book on the Werewolf legislations through the ages, as a favor to Harry. Occasionally she let out a disapproving noise, once or twice she muttered a soft, unpleasant word Harry was fairly sure he wasn't supposed to hear, so he assumed she was taking it all in fairly well.

"What was that, Harry?" Hermione asked him after a moment, her voice concerned. Harry blinked and turned his head to look at her.

"Oh, it was a letter from the Minister, Hermione. Nothing to worry about, he just said he liked our pamphlet and a few other things."

Hermione looked unconvinced. "Then why did you burn it?"

Harry sighed. "Because, with everything that's changing, I'm fairly certain that if Dumbledore doesn't have members of the Order spying on me already, he will do soon. I don't want anything involving details of my meetings with Scrimgeour where someone can get their hands on it."

"Harry, I still don't think going against Dumbledore is a good idea." After pressure from his friends, Harry had been compelled to tell them more about his meeting with Scrimgeour, and as a logical outcome, his clash with the Headmaster. Neither one of them had liked the idea, at all, it had come close to an outright fight with Ron until Harry had managed to get the reason for the fight out, and that had only brought Ron to something like grudging acceptance. Hermione was much more the type to try gentle but persistent persuasion, of course. "I know you don't think Snape teaching Defence is a good idea..." She paused, sighed. "I don't either, really. But weren't you saying we all needed to come together?"

Harry sat up, frowning, but not at Hermione. She shrank back anyway, and he reached out to take her hand, trying to soften it. "I did, and we do. But that doesn't mean we should all do exactly what Dumbledore thinks. That's totalitarianism, Hermione," He grinned suddenly. "You taught me that word, remember? And our enemies operate that way. If Dumbledore thinks we should do the same, then he's already halfway over on the other side. If nothing else, I hope he's thinking now, thinking hard, and realizing it."

"Oi! What are you two talking about over there?" Ron interjected. Harry turned, seeing that both Weasleys had landed and were giving them both mildly annoyed looks. _Honestly,_ he thought. _Ron, you need to get your head out of your arse and just ask her out, being jealous all the time, especially of me, is stupid, even for you._ Ginny on the other hand, would have to work things out on her own, he supposed.

"Dumbledore, of course." Hermione responded tiredly. "What else would Harry feel he had to reassure me about?"

"Speak of the wizard and he shall know." Ron quoted, glancing up. They all followed his eyes to the approaching school owl. It dropped a scroll in Harry's lap and winged away. "What's that then?"

"I don't know." Harry replied, feeling a bit of fear as he began to unroll it. "Let's see."

_**Dear Harry,**_

_**In the midst of the unpleasantness of our last encounter, I am afraid that I forgot to inform you of one other important piece of news. With your Godfather dead, my friends and I felt it necessary to relocate. In the midst of moving, we located Sirius Black's last will and testament. It is a sad honor, but an honor nonetheless, to inform you that you have been named sole heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. **_

_**Below you will find a brief list of properties and valuables associated with your inheritance. While all are legally yours, you will have control only of the properties until reaching the age of majority. All other valuables, including real currency, are to be placed in trust until your seventeenth birthday. I hope that you will not allow your newfound status as heir to a second noble line of wizards to inflate your ego to an even larger size than it has lately swelled to.**_

_**Yours,**_

_**Albus Dumbledore**_

_**Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**_

_**Supreme Mugwump International Confederation of Wizards**_

_**Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot**_

What followed was a list of several houses, manors, and what sounded like a castle, including Grimmauld Place. Harry blinked, realizing it had been written in Sirius' own hand. Beneath that list were several other items, most notably something called the "Black Blade," at which Harry couldn't help but picture a twisted and sinister version of the Sword of Gryffindor, the "Rod of Rule" which prompted an equally unpleasant mental picture, and finally, the "Black Signet." As his eyes scanned over these words, he suddenly felt cool metal in his hand. Harry gasped, nearly dropping it, then slowly brought his hand up to his face and opened it.

It was a beautiful thing. The tails of two shooting stars, one gold, the other silver, twisted together to form the band, then met again and swirled around the Black Crest, which Harry recognized from having seen it dozens of times at Grimmauld Place. The tails of the stars seemed in constant movement, flowing without either becoming thicker or thinner, and slowly circling around the crest. Ginny gasped in appreciation, Hermione looked at it, fascinated, and Ron snorted in disgust.

"What would he want to give you _that_ thing for?" Ron asked.

"I don't know Ron, it's quite a gift, isn't it? That's the Black Signet ring, it has to be." Hermione answered, drawing Harry's attention away from the shining band.

"What's that mean?" He asked, curiously.

"Well, it's just like that one around your neck," Hermione noted, pointing at Scrimgeour's ring. "The person who owns it is the head of the family, their word is law, they can make family alliances, call in debts, and they're the only ones who can sell family property."

"So Harry's head of the House of Scrimgeour now too?" Ginny asked curiously.

"No," Hermione replied. "Even though Harry has it right now, it still belongs to the Minister, until he formally passes it on or dies. Right now it's the token of an alliance, in fact, it's the strongest token Scrimgeour can give. Breaking the terms of their alliance while Harry has that could have _terrible_ repercussions. The family would be dishonored for generations, the Minister would lose his place as head of the family... It's even possible the ancestral homes might not let him in anymore."

Harry was a little shaken, looking back and forth between the two signets. He'd had no idea what the ring actually meant until Hermione explained it. Suddenly, he felt a whole new layer of respect toward the Minister. He still knew better than to completely trust the man, but the respect was definitely there. His gaze returned to the Black Signet, and he once again found himself following the curves of the metal with his eyes.

Ron spoke up, breaking his fascination. "That still doesn't explain why Sirius gave it to Harry. I know he loved Harry and all, but I'd think that would make him _not_ want to give him all that. The Black name has been bad for centuries, nobody good ever came out of that House." It took a moment, then. "Except Sirius, of course!"

"And Tonks." Harry added, absent-mindedly. "Her Mum is a Black." Ron nodded, but didn't look like he was willing to give up his point.

Surprisingly, it was Ginny who answered the question. "Maybe he wanted that changed." She ventured. "Maybe he didn't want his family to be something to be ashamed of anymore, and he knew Harry could accomplish that."

Hermione nodded eagerly. "You're probably right, Ginny. The last few generations of Blacks have all been Dark Wizards and servants of Dark Wizards... But if you go back further than that, there were some heroes in the line too. They were still Slytherins of course, and were known for being cunning and powerful rather than honest and brave, but they were more often in the service of the Light than the Dark."

"Good Slytherins." Ron snorted. "Might as well say cheery thestrals, or smart giants."

"Oh stop it, Ron." Ginny snapped, irritably. "They're not all like Malfoy you know. Some Slytherins aren't that bad. I mean.." She paused, realizing all her friends were looking at her. "I mean, they're still underhanded and sarcastic, but not cruel or hateful."

"What've you been doing, hanging out with Slytherins?" Ron demanded, reddening dangerously around the ears. "Bad enough you've dated six different boys this year, I'm _not_ going to have my little sister consorting with the enemy!"

"I have _classes_ with Slytherins, you dolt!" Ginny answered, her own face starting to flush. Cautiously, Hermione and Harry began edging back from the brewing fight. "And I've dated _two_ boys, Ron, not six. And maybe if we didn't all keep automatically _treating_ Slytherins like enemies, they wouldn't be so ready to _act_ like it!""

"But Slytherins hate Gryffindors!" Ron exclaimed, obviously expecting this to be the end of the argument.

"No, Ron. Slytherins hate stupid people. And your example to the contrary, they aren't always the same thing." With that, Ginny stormed off. Ron was fuming and making sputtering noises. Finally, he rounded on his two best friends and snapped. "You see what I mean, don't you?"

They were both quiet a moment, then Harry answered, thoughtfully. "I don't know, Ron... Sure, Malfoy's a complete arse, and Crabbe and Goyle are brutes... Pansy Parkinson's no prize either, but you can blame most of those three on trying to impress Malfoy, if you think about it."

"No argument from me on that." Hermione put in. "And Millicent Bulstrode is a troll. But what about Blaise Zabini?"

Harry nodded. "I can't ever remember him bothering us, or anyone we know. Mostly he just seems to stick to himself and try to do his schoolwork. And except for a few of the real arseholes, like Montague and Warrington, I don't think any of the other Slytherins have ever really bothered us, except around Quidditch time... And we all get a little crazy then." He chuckled as he saw Hermione's disapproving look of agreement.

Ron, meanwhile, was staring at the both of them as if they'd gone mad, or fundamentally betrayed him, or both. Harry just shook his head and shifted the topic away before this could turn into an argument. Instead, he returned to his contemplation of the ring. "I reckon Ginny might have been right, you know.." He said thoughtfully, and seeing Ron open his mouth angrily, quickly added, "About Sirius. Sure, his parents were no prize, and his brother was a Death Eater, but before that... There's a portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. He's a little stuck up, and authoritarian enough to make Filch jealous, plus of course he's got the blood-prejudice you'd expect, but he never really seemed like the _evil_ sort. And if you look at the Family Tapestry, half the names are burned off for going against the pureblood supremacy ideas. Why is it that those half are in the wrong and the half who remained ignorant are in the right?"

Hermione nodded, and Ron still looked unconvinced. Impulsively, Harry slipped the ring around the middle finger of his right hand. He realized quickly he was going to have to wear it around his neck as well, it was too big by half. But then, it wasn't. It didn't noticeably shrink or change, it just, suddenly, fit him as perfectly as if it had been made to do so. Hermione made the sort of happy noise Harry had learned to associate with finding the answer, and he glanced over at her.

"You're accepted, Harry!" She cheered. "You're really the Head of House Black now." She took his hand and examined the ring, nodding proudly. Ron, on the other hand, looked openly furious.

"What, so you're going to play at being a pureblood now?" He scoffed. "Going to change your mind and start hanging out with Malfoy? Going to start trying to press the Ministry? Oh, right, you're doing that already." He shook his head and turned away, storming off toward the Burrow.

"Ron!" Harry called, darting after him. "Stop it! You're being a git! You _know_ better, I'm not like that." He caught up, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. Ron twisted away and shot him a look bordering on pure hate.

"Sure, that's what you say, and that's what I always thought. But you've changed, Harry. You used to try to be a regular person, and now what?"

Harry felt something cold in the pit of his stomach, and just for an instant, that urge to apologize he'd kept feeling lately started to creep into him. However, it was burned away quickly by a growing anger. Everyone kept telling him what he was supposed to do, who he was supposed to be, how he was supposed to bloody _think!_ He had gotten used to it from Dumbledore, understood it from the elder Weasleys, but he expected better from his friends. "I'll tell you what, Ron!" He snapped. "It doesn't bloody work! It just makes people more suspicious, or worse, it makes people think they can push me around. I'm _sick_ of it, and I'd hoped for better from you. You're supposed to be my friend, you know."

"Yeah and you're supposed to be mine!"

"And what's that supposed to-"

"Stop it! Both of you!" Hermione cried, pushing in between them, one hand on Harry's chest, the other on Ron's. "I can't _believe_ you're acting like this again! Haven't you learned anything? We're friends, we're supposed to stick together! Why are you two _idiots_ always so ready to give up on each other?!" Both boys opened their mouths, but the expression of barely suppressed fury on their friend's face kept them silent.

"Harry!" She snapped, turning toward him. "You know how Ron is, he doesn't like changes, he doesn't like new things! You need to give him space when you start moving around like this. He's supposed to be your friend and accept what you do, yes, but you're supposed to understand him as well." She whipped her head around.

"And you, Ronald Weasley." She said in a tone far too close to Mrs. Weasley's most dangerous one for comfort, "You know _damned-"_ She spat the word for effect, achieving fully what she wanted to. Hermione didn't talk like that, so when she did, she immediately had your complete attention. "-well that Harry's not going to suddenly turn into Malfoy. He's under pressures you and I can't possibly hope to understand. We are _supposed_ to be his best friends, and to help him when everyone's against him. But then, you've already forgotten that once, _haven't you?_"

Ron stared at Hermione, then looked accusingly at Harry, then stared at Hermione again. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Finally, he seemed to seize some kind of control of himself. He didn't storm off, but walked away with a measured pace. Harry went to follow once more, but Hermione prevented him from it.

"He's trying Harry. Right now he's keeping himself from yelling, so you have to try too. Just... Give him some time, alright?"

Harry sighed, then nodded reluctantly. He hated it when he fought with Ron, but he knew in his heart Hermione was right. You couldn't just force Ron to understand things immediately, he needed to work it out for himself. Trying to push him only ever made things worse. "I'm just getting so tired of this, Hermione. It seems like in the past few days everyone I know has gotten angry at me, except you and Tonks."

Hermione shook her head, turning away from him. "You shouldn't be putting me on that list, Harry. You know I don't approve of what you're doing. I think going up against Dumbledore is stupid and wrongheaded..." She closed her eyes for a moment, letting her shoulders sink. "But you and Ron were the first real friends I ever had. And I'm not going to give up on you, ever. Either one of you." She sighed and tried to adjust her bushy mane back to something that resembled order. "Just promise me one thing Harry... Promise me that you're really going to keep doing what you said, thinking about things instead of just reacting. If you're really thinking and not just doing all this because you don't like Snape and you're angry at Dumbledore over Sirius... Then I'm going to be very cross with you." She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled, it was a tired, long-suffering expression, but full of genuine affection.

Harry, at a loss for words, just nodded. Together, they walked into the Burrow. Ron had already gone to his room, Ginny was sitting at a corner of the table doing some of her summer homework, studiously ignoring everyone and everything around her, and Mrs. Weasley looked as if she wanted to ask what had happened, but was afraid to. Hermione went over to help Ginny and Harry sat down to think. He was sure he wasn't just being motivated by old dislikes and new ones... But he needed to start planning ahead for what was coming. Every part of him knew it was only going to get harder from here.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Harry's 16th birthday was a relatively quiet affair, though for him that was still more than enough. He still had trouble adjusting to parties, especially parties for him. Of course, things weren't helped by the tense atmosphere between Harry, and Ron and his parents, who were still more or less giving him the silent treatment, though Mrs. Weasley had begun to relent somewhat. Other than the entire clan of Weasleys(sans the twins, who were far too busy with their new joke shop and Charlie, who was in Romania), the only other guests were Hermione, Remus Lupin, and Fleur Delacour. Harry had been hoping Tonks would drop by, but she'd begged off, giving the necessity of two jobs as her reason. Harry was disappointed, but understanding.

There were presents of course, which was another thing Harry still hadn't entirely got used to, but had at least learned to enjoy more than parties. From Mrs. Weasley one of the infamous jumpers that her own children all seemed to loathe so terribly, and Harry loved with a passion. From Mr. Weasley a small but rather thick book entitled "Demystifying the Ministry: Rules and Regulations of the Wizengamot Explained for the Average Wizard," on the flyleaf was a rather terse note:

_**Dear Harry,**_

_**I do not approve of you hunting kelpies, but if you're determined to try, I'm bloody well not sending you off without a bridle. I gave my first son who went into the Ministry this same book. He's since then got ideas above his station and decided that his family will only hold him back. I am trusting you not to break my Molly's heart by giving in to that same brand of foolishness.**_

_**Yours,**_

_**Arthur**_

Harry read the note three times before he dared look up. It was obvious Mr. Weasley still felt no better about Harry's decisions concerning Dumbledore and Scrimgeour... But in expressing that fact, the man had once again done all but straight-out call Harry his son. Finally, Harry looked up at Mr. Weasley and, meeting the man's eyes directly, gave him a firm nod. Mr. Weasley returned the gesture, then began talking to Bill about something.

From Remus Harry received a dragonhide wand holster of the sort that could be strapped to a limb or hung at the belt, with the comment that he was sick of hearing Moody complain about Harry's tendency of keeping his wand insecurely, or worse, in his pocket. Ron's gift was not terribly unsurprising, a Chudley Cannons calendar. Harry wasn't certain to interpret it as a completely thoughtless gift, or the start at a peace offering, and the grunt he got in reply to his thanks gave very little indication of which. Ginny's gift was an emerald green scarf that Harry suspected she, taking a cue from her mother, had knit herself. Harry thanked her effusively for the gift and received a blush and a bright, hopeful smile in return.

Hermione, who fully approved of the fact that Harry seemed to be adopting a cause, even if it wasn't S.P.E.W. had, also unsurprisingly, given Harry another book, though really it was large enough to warrant the name 'tome.' Harry looked curiously at the title: "Through Amber Eyes." He paged through it briefly, blinking as the realization of just what he was holding came to him. The first few chapters were a description of lycanthropy, varying theories as to its origin, and a listing of all the laws(complete with annotations and commentary) that had been passed regarding werewolves through the ages. That, however, was really only the foreword. The majority of the book consisted of over 50 different accounts, drawn from diaries, testimonies and interviews with werewolves, describing fully what their lives were like; living with the curse, being rejected by society, and, in quite a few cases, actually being hunted. Harry thanked her, carefully setting the book aside to be fully read later. Remus had caught the title and gave both of them a curious look, though apparently decided not to ask.

Charlie had sent Harry, of all things, a dragonhide jacket. Ron looked jealous, Mrs. Weasley looked murderous, and Harry absolutely loved it, though he knew better than to try it on right away and cause an explosion. Not that the explosion came much later.

Bill and Fleur had made him a joint present of another book, though this, at least, was a book on spells. "Enchantments and Charms for the Maturing Wizard." Mrs. Weasley took one look at the book and turned on her eldest, immediately beginning to give him the full effect of her disapproval. Bill took it without a flinch, obviously a veteran at this. Fleur looked at Harry from where she hid behind her fiancee from her future mother-in-law and winked in a way that brought a strong reminder of Tonks. This disturbed Harry more than a little bit, and cautiously he opened the book to look at the index.

The first section contained spells and simple potions pertaining mostly to hygiene. It included tips on preparing bubotuber paste to deal with blemishes, cleansing charms designed specifically for body odor, bad breath, and greasy hair, and a simple spell to help mask a squeaky voice change. The second section had a long list of meditation techniques and breathing exercises designed to help deal with irrational anger and mood swings that might negatively impact the ability to cast magic. Harry found himself beginning to wonder if Bill and Fleur were trying to make a point. He shot Fleur a look, Bill still too busy with being quietly berated by his mother, and Fleur merely continued to smile at him.

Harry looked back down and flipped the page to view the third section of the index, which was entitled "Invocations des Ardours." Feeling a sense of impending doom, Harry mouthed the words uncertainly before he began to move his eyes down the list for that section. He got as far as the "Endurance Enchantment" and the "Contraception Charm" before snapping the book shut and quickly hiding it under his other presents.

Fleur was giggling now, and it seemed Mrs. Weasely had reached the height of her furor. "And if you think for a _second_ that I don't know you slipped Fred and George that same smut when they were his age, you're wrong! Harry is too young to be worrying about that sort of thing, how _dare_ you start putting those kind of thoughts into his-"

"I dunno Mum," Bill replied calmly. "I seem to remember worrying about that sort of thing quite a lot when I was Harry's age, if those thoughts aren't _already_ in his head we should probably take him to St. Mungo's for a checkout... As to him being too young for the book..." Molly was obviously waiting for the other shoe to drop, her face a massing thunderhead of black clouds to rival any storm since the creation of the world. "Well... Look at it this way."

Bill smiled the charming, handsome smile that had probably been what won him Fleur Delacour. "We teach first years Defence Against the Dark Arts, fully hoping they won't have any necessiity to use any of it for years afterward. Some, like that lot of fatheads we just got out of the Ministry say we shouldn't, because giving young wizards and witches access to that kind of magic will only cause them to want to use it and get into a lot of trouble. But most people with any real sense, yourself included, think it's better for them to have the knowledge of the spells in case the time when they're suddenly needed comes unexpectedly, rather than them being forced to scramble around, trying to make do, and getting in all sorts of jams."

There was a long moment of silence after that. Everyone was staring at Bill Weasley with expressions that ranged from shock, to awe, to outright admiration on Ron's part. Mrs. Weasley was working her mouth slowly, her eyes wide and hard and bright as she went over her eldest son's words again and again in her mind. She seemed desperate to find some way to refute this logic, but Harry guessed Bill had fully expected this exact argument when he had bought the book, and had quite likely spent weeks phrasing the perfect rebuttal to his mother.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley stomped her foot and whipped around, snarling. "Well don't you even _think_ about giving Ron something like that for _his_ next birthday!"

"No worries Mum." Bill laughed. "I'm sure Ron won't be needing that book for _years_ yet. Decades quite possibly." Ron purpled, Hermione blushed, and Ginny made no attempt to hide her laughter, although most of the adults in the room tried at least, to varying degrees of success.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The atmosphere hadn't been terribly festive to begin with, and was only brought down further as a chance comment by Bill got him, Mr. Weasley, and Remus all talking about the rash of disappearances and murders that had been making the headlines of the Prophet ever since the rag had finally admitted Voldemort's return. Harry, meanwhile, picked absently at a bit of cake, trying not to pay too much attention. It wasn't that he didn't care, not at all. But part of keeping a level mind for thinking things through was accepting that he simply could not do everything, and he was currently in no position to combat the Death Eater wave of terror in any way other than by trying to give the people hope. Since he already had plans in place for that, thinking over it all too much was only going to accomplish driving him slowly mad.

He couldn't, however, miss the sudden burst of curiosity and worry from everyone at the mention of Ollivander being taken. His memories of the man, strange, but brilliant, and friendly in his own creepy way, swirled through Harry's head, and he carefully put them aside, attempting to file the information away in case he'd need it later. It didn't work, instead the knowledge of Ollivander being in Voldemort's hands continued to swirl through his mind. At first it produced only worry for the man, as well as the usual feeling of shame that Harry couldn't manage to protect people...

And then, something in his head clicked. He whipped his head up and stared off into the distance. It was so _obvious_, he couldn't understand how everyone was missing it. They were all concerned that Voldemort was going to try to force Ollivander to make better wands for the Death Eaters he currently had, but that wasn't it, that wasn't it at all. "They're going to raid Azkaban..." Harry murmured softly, to no one in particular, just needing to voice the conclusion.

"What?" Remus asked, whipping his head around to stare at the young wizard. Harry's words had been soft enough, and everyone else's conversation engaging enough, that he'd been the only one to hear. "What do you mean, Harry?"

Harry blinked, not having been entirely conscious that he'd even said it out loud. "That's what they want Ollivander for, they're going to raid Azkaban." he repeated.

"Now, Harry..." Mr. Weasley began. "You're jumping to conclusions. Just because they're trying to get better wands doesn't mean they specifically want them for-"

"Let 'Arry speak." Fleur said, her voice was as soft and beautiful as ever, but held a surprising tone of command. "'E knows 'is enemy." The mere fact that the half-veela, who most of the people there, Weasley and guest alike, saw as little more than an annoyance, if a pretty one, was expressing an opinion about something other than Bill, silenced the room as effectively as the seriousness of her tone.

Harry felt the old embarassment start trying to rise up at being the center of attention, and quickly stomped it down. That seemed to be getting easier with practice. "All the Death Eaters who are still free have their own wands..." He started, shrugging. "Maybe a better wand of a certain material might help them a bit with more complex transfigurations or charms... But Death Eaters don't worry much about that sort of thing. Any wand will work well enough for the Killing Curse and Cruciatis. And they don't seem to be having too much trouble with Imperius going wrong that I've heard about... So why would Voldemort," There was the usual collective flinch, though, surprisingly, Fleur was not a part of it. Perhaps she was just not as afraid of the Dark Lord, being French, or perhaps there was more steel in that deceptively delicate female form than he'd been giving her credit for. "Go to the trouble?"

"Well, Harry..." Mr. Weasley began again, "You know everything he does is at least partially just to cause terror."

"I'd think killing Ollivander and leaving the Dark Mark overhead would accomplish that just as well." Harry discounted the theory off-handedly. "On the other hand though, most of Voldemort's" He made a face as they flinched again. "Most of his best and brightest," this was drawled sarcastically. "Are currently locked up, thanks mostly to half the people sitting in this room. You can't really expect him to leave them there forever, not when he's gearing up for a major offensive. Besides, another mass break-out would cause a panic and make people lose even more faith in the Ministry. Either way, once he gets Malfoy, Dolohov, and the rest of that lot out, they're going to need wands, and they're the sort who won't want to use second-hand wands that have been," He tried to imitate Lucius' voice, and came close to Draco's at least. "Soiled by the hands of mudbloods."

Ron shot him a look for that and opened his mouth, then let out a grunt as Hermione elbowed him sharply. The members of the Order sitting at the table, however, had gone very quiet. Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Remus were all exchanging looks. Finally, it was Remus who spoke. "I think someone had better talk to Albus about this. He's probably thought of it already himself," Harry quite diplomatically controlled the urge to snort. "But he should know we're worried about it, at least." Remus smiled at Harry, a surprisingly proud light in his eyes. "I think you're right on this one, Harry. You're beginning to grow into it, aren't you?" Harry returned the smile, feeling a warmth in his chest that had been absent the last few days.

"Harry should tell the Minister, as well." Hermione said softly. She got disapproving looks from the majority of the Weasleys for this assertion(Bill, Harry noted, was not among that number), but she seemed much better at handling disapproval than her friend. Instead of quailing or shrinking away, she merely looked blandly back at them. "Well, he should. The Minister is his ally, and allies aren't supposed to keep secrets from one another."

There was a moment of quiet as the members of the Order in the room once again exchanged looks, however this time there was a decidedly ashamed note in it. The silence stretched on, the three students waiting for one of the adults to speak, until finally Mrs. Weasley did. "Be that as it may, Harry's not going to be contacting the Minister." Her voice was quiet, almost apologetic.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, rather proud of himself for keeping his tone to mere polite curiosity.

"Headmaster's orders, Harry." This was Mr. Weasley, and he couldn't quite bring himself to meet Harry's cool green gaze. "He's concerned about communications being used to trace you to the Burrow. You're not to contact anyone outside the house. He didn't give specifics, but I think the Minister is most likely included on that list."

"He's at the head of the list, you mean." He was raging, screaming inside, but he still managed to keep his voice perfectly calm, though from the way everyone flinched away from him slightly, his anger was being conveyed by his eyes. Bill and Fleur were looking decidedly uncomfortable, and Lupin's expression was something approaching outrage.

"Bill, Molly, this is ridiculous! You know-" Remus began.

"It's alright, Remus." Harry interrupted, softly. "As everyone keeps telling me, the Headmaster knows best. If he really believes my telling the Minister that it's likely there will be a break-out at Azkaban soon will somehow endanger the Weasleys, then that's the last thing I want to do." His veins were full of burning ice, his pulse was pounding so hard he couldn't help but wonder if everyone could see it throbbing at his neck. With all the grace he could muster, Harry pushed up from his chair and gathered his presents. No one said anything. "If you'll all excuse me, I'm feeling a bit ill. Thank you for coming, Remus, thank you all for the presents and the party." Without another word, he smoothly strode from the room.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"This is ridiculous." Remus Lupin said again, quietly. The elder Weasleys were still not meeting anyone's eyes but eachother's, occasionally, apparently for support.

"Albus said he was conc-"

"That's bollocks, Mum!" Bill snapped. "Dumbledore didn't for an instant expect Harry to buy that load of tripe. If you need to convince yourself of it to do what you're told, that's one thing, but don't expect the rest of us to buy into it."

"You watch how you speak to your mother, William." Arthur threatened, but the tone of command he was reaching for seemed to be eluding him. Instead of conviction, his tone was laced mostly with exhaustion. Bill shook his head and stood, in an instant his fiancee was at his side.

"We're going out, this is madness, and neither one of us is going to have a part in it." He turned to go, and Fleur followed him, though the beautiful young woman paused as they reached the door and turned to address the three remaining adults in the room.

"'Eef your Dumbleydore needs to lie and confine 'is allies to 'ensure 'is pow'air, per'aps 'e does not deserve 'eet." Molly looked furious at that, and stood up to defend her old patron, but before she could get a word out her eldest and his betrothed had already left. Still flushed, she searched the room for another deserving target, and found only her husband, Remus Lupin, and the three other children, who were sitting quietly together, not daring to say a word.

"You three have already got enough of a show for one night I believe. Off to bed with you!"

"Mum..." Ron said in his rarely used serious tone, standing up and squaring himself.

"Not... Now... Ronald." Molly hissed dangerously. Ron still looked mutinous for a moment, but Hermione took him by one shoulder and Ginny by the other, and together they managed to drag the youngest of the Weasley boys off before the situation could manage to get any worse for the family.

"You know this is wrong, Molly. We're supposed to be the ones in the right, this isn't how we're supposed to act." Lupin said, gravely. "Arthur, surely you see that?"

"Albus Dumbledore knows what he's doing." Arthur Weasley responded tiredly, in an old rote that had grown very familiar. "He got us through this last time, he'll do it again."

Remus stood, preparing to answer that fallacy flat out for once. Albus Dumbledore had not won the last War against Voldemort. Albus Dumbledore had failed to protect those who believed in him, had stood by and let one of Remus' best friends betray the others, until in the end, only dear, sweet Lily Evans had been left to stand against the Dark Lord. It had been the Marauders, the Marauders and Lily Evans nee Potter, as well as a one year old, who had gotten them through the last time. He was opening his mouth to say just that when a sharp -THUMP!- from the direction of Harry's room caught his attention. He jerked his head around as he heard another, and then two more in rapid succession.

"Remus?" Molly asked, suddenly concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Do you have any ice, Molly?"

"Well, yes, in the kitchen, but why?" She asked, looking confused.

"Because Harry's probably going to need it. If you'll excuse me, I'll handle this."

"If Harry's hurt..." Molly said, switching instantly into mothering mode in a way that made it hard to stay angry at her.

Remus stopped her with a gentle touch. "Right now that young man is very angry at the two of you, and rightfully so in my opinion. I'd ask you not to make this worse on him by pushing the admirable self-control he's demonstrated this evening." With that, Remus walked past her to get the ice.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Well." Harry said, sitting on the edge of his bed and examining the scraped and bloody mess that was left of the knuckles of his right hand. "That was stupid." He laughed softly and shook his head.

"Bet it felt good, though." Remus said quietly from the doorway. He entered the room that was currently Harry's own, shutting the door behind him and sitting next to the young wizard.

"Well... Yeah." Harry sighed, shaking his hand in an attempt to stop his fingers from twitching with the pain. Having been Cruciated by a master, this was certainly tolerable, but that didn't mean it was _pleasant._

"Let me see." Remus said, in a completely businesslike tone. He took Harry's hand, turning it from side to side and nodding. "Yeah, you broke one." He drew his wand and muttered "_Episkey," _lightly tapping the middle knuckle. There was an odd hot and cold feeling, and the pain decreased immediately. Remus held up his other hand, in which was a damp cloth wrapped around what Harry could only hope was a bundle of ice. He put it on Harry's swollen knuckles, and there was a twinge, then the blessed coolness that fulfilled Harry's hope.

"Thanks, Remus. How'd you know?" He asked curiously, taking the ice and holding it in place with a sigh of relief. Remus gave him a patient look with those softly golden eyes. "Oh... Right."

Remus nodded. "I heard the noise, and you forget sometimes I grew up with your father and Sirius. The sound of knuckles breaking on a wall is as familiar, and almost as comforting in a way, as the sound of the Hogwarts Express whistle." He laughed softly. "I swear, in that last year when James was doing everything he could to get on Lily's good side and trying so hard not to fight with Severus, he must have broken his hand at least eight times in the course of a month."

"What about Sirius?" Harry asked, shifting back against the pillows and listening attentively. It was so rare he got to hear about those days, the last real thing he'd learned about the Marauders from their Hogwarts years had been from Snape's Pensieve.

"With Sirius it was usually his brother." Remus answered, resting against a post of the bed. "I think all the love he couldn't give to his parents wound up being directed at Regulus, and the word 'furious' doesn't even begin to describe the way he felt when he fully realized Regulus had every intention of going down the path Mr. and Mrs. Black had set out for him. He spent two years, whenever he wasn't chasing girls or tormenting Severus, doing everything he could think of to try to turn his little brother around." Remus closed his eyes and sighed. "Just now it was him you reminded me of most, you know."

"Really?" Harry asked, there was a slight hitch in his voice, but he didn't mind. If there was anyone he felt comfortable mourning his lost Godfather around, it was Remus Lupin.

"Yes. When your father was struggling to control himself it was to get a girl, and even though he didn't resort to spells or insults, you could still see the hatred for Severus simmering in his eyes, and the hope Severus would give him a real excuse to let it out." Harry shifted uncomfortably. The Potter, Black and Snape feud had been weighing heavily on his mind lately. He still wasn't ready to tackle it head on, but he knew he was going to have to. It scared him a bit. For now, he closed his own eyes and tried to lose himself in Remus' memories.

"Sirius though... You could see the anger there, and how hard he was working to hold on to it. But more than that, you could see the _reason_ he was holding onto it. He was fighting tooth and claw not to hurt someone he dearly loved, even though they were being monumentally stupid. In all the years I knew Sirius Black, that was the only time I would ever have described him as being patient, in his own way."

"He never really talked about Regulus much, just mentioned him once in conjunction with his parents." Harry mentioned thoughtfully, still trying to picture the Sirius he'd seen in Snape's memories trying so desperately to redeem a beloved brother.

"That's because he blamed himself, probably right until the end. First for not keeping Regulus from joining the Death Eaters when he was only 16, then for not managing to protect him when he got in too deep and tried to defect." Lupin sighed and shook his head, then glanced down at Harry's hand. At first, Harry assumed he was just checking the wound, but instead Lupin's gaze fixed on his ring and a smile crossed the older wizard's face. "So, he really did it then."

Harry looked down at the ring and, with a brief smile, nodded. "Yeah, that's right. Harry Potter is now Head of House Black. You knew about this? Why'd he do it then?"

"Actually, technically speaking, the moment you put that ring on you became Harry Black-Potter." Remus corrected. "As to why? Well... There's the reason he gave aloud." Remus grinned. "He loved the idea of making a half-blood champion of muggle rights the Head of the House. The underneath reason though, is a bit more complex."

Harry tilted his head, grinning as well at his Godfather's last joke. "We reckoned, that is, Ginny, Hermione and I, that he wanted me to redeem the name..."

Remus looked a bit curious. "Ron doesn't agree?"

Harry sighed in annoyance. "Ron is agreeing with his parents. He thinks I've got ideas above my station, and as soon as I put the ring on he flew off the handle at me."

Remus shook his head. "I'm not terribly surprised, nor should you be. House Black has long represented pureblood supremacy, as well as the call for muggles to be made servants like house elves..." He paused, as if hesitant to voice the rest, then shrugged. "Not to mention, the Weasleys are not the richest of lines, and your Ron seems even more aware of that than the rest of his family. Do you know exactly how much money came to you with the Black Estates?"

Harry blinked, realizing he'd never even considered the money. "No... Do you know?"

Lupin chuckled. "Sirius estimated it at somewhat in excess of several millions of Galleons. Not that you can touch it yet anyway. Added to what remains of the Potter fortune in your main vault, on your next birthday you stand to inherit the sort of sum that could quite possibly make even the Malfoys jealous."

"But I don't want it!" Harry protested. "I _never_ wanted to be rich. Comfortable maybe, but not rich."

Remus gave him a serious look, then. "The money isn't going to be yours, Harry."

"But you just said-"

"I know what I said, but you didn't know how to listen. James and Sirius both explained it to me at one point or another. House money is in the control of the Head, but it isn't _theirs_, it belongs to the House as a whole. It's meant to be used to maintain the estates, advance the Name, and provide for the descendants. So just keep that in mind. Whether you want to give it all away or spend it on fancy broomsticks and building your friends their own castles... You have the legal right to do so, but not the moral one."

Harry was quiet, not wanting to think about such things. Thanks to Remus, he was starting to realize a lot more had come with the Signet that Sirius had left him than just a hyphenate to his name. "You were saying there was 'an underneath reason' why Sirius did this to me?"

Remus chuckled softly, not failing to notice the way Harry's view of the position was rapidly changing from gift to burden. "You've got half of it right, I think." The tired-looking wizard stood and moved over to Harry's desk as he spoke. "The Blacks have gained an unpleasant reputation in the last few centuries, and you would do Sirius proud to change it." He picked up a quill, dipped it in the ink, and scrawled something on a sheet of parchment. "But more, I think Sirius wants you to change what the Black name stands for." Remus returned with a book, the note he'd scrawled, and the quill along with a fresh sheet of parchment. He tapped the note lightly as he continued.

_**Write fast, Arthur is outside listening, and he's probably going to come interrupt us in a moment. I'll see your message arrives where it's meant to.**_

Harry took one look at the note, shot a glance at Remus, and began to write quickly. His usually untidy script was even moreso thanks to haste and an unsteady backing, but he wasn't going to be marked for penmanship on this one. "The Black name has been, in some people's minds irretrievably, associated with pureblood supremacy since almost the beginning. But more recently it's become a name of Death Eaters, of Dark Wizards, and of muggle killers. The thing that always galled Sirius most about this was the fact that a great majority of his most beloved and respected relatives have been cast out of the family in the past few generations for going against these ugly tenants, whereas murderers and criminals have been proudly kept on the tapestry simply because they managed to point their darker tendencies at muggles and muggleborns."

"But how on Earth am I supposed to change all that?" Harry asked, writing the last line and signing his name. He quickly folded the brief letter up and handed it to Remus, who tucked it in his robe, as well as the note. Harry tucked the quill inside the textbook Remus had given him to write on and set it next to him on the bed.

"By being yourself, Harry. By standing up for what you believe in. By doing what is right..." Remus paused thoughtfully. "Perhaps the first place to start would be researching all those burned off names and contacting their owners." He grinned, ferally. "There's also a name or two on there I'm sure you wouldn't mind burning off yourself."

Harry nodded forcefully, two instantly coming to mind. He opened his mouth to say just that when the door of the room sprang open. Mr. Weasley popped in, looking back and forth between Harry, who was holding ice on his knuckles with a book laying next to him, and Remus who was standing a few feet away and leaning against a bed post. Both turned to look at the man(who, Harry suddenly realized, was the Head of House Weasley), with curiousity.

"Something the matter, Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley was still looking mildly suspicious, but since there was no proof of anything to be suspicious about, he merely replied. "It's about time for Harry to be getting some rest, don't you think, Remus?"

Remus blinked, made a show of checking his watch and nodded. "You're right, of course, Arthur. I should be getting some rest as well. Last night was one of the easier ones I've had, but it wouldn't do to exhaust myself." He turned to Harry and nodded. "Think about what we discussed, Harry. I know you'll make Sirius proud." He patted the younger wizard's shoulder and shambled out of the room.

Mr. Weasley watched him go, then looked uncertainly at his young house-guest. "I... Harry, you have to understan-"

"Dumbledore knows best." Harry said quietly, not meeting the other man's eyes. "Yes, I know, everyone says that a lot around here. Goodnight, Mr. Weasley."

Mr. Weasley sighed, but didn't seem to have any better arguments to make. "Goodnight, Harry." He extinguished the light in the room and turned, closing the door quietly behind him. Harry sat in the dark for a moment, then kicked his trainers off, shucked out of his school shirt(he really needed to get to Madam Malkin's, he decided) and flopped down on the pillows. He had to restrain himself from shouting in mild pain and surprise.

Harry pulled his wand out of the holster he was already wearing strapped to his forearm, then slowly, carefully, reached under his pillow and touched what he'd felt under his head, braced for sudden portkey transport. When none came, he felt around it with his fingers, then brought it out for examination. It was a box, about a foot long and six inches wide and maybe half again as tall, wrapped in what felt like twine and plain brown paper. He shook it, and heard the sounds of parchment moving around, as well as the sound and feel of something heavier thudding against the sides.

"_Lumos_" he whispered softly, then shined the light from the tip of his wand on the package. This didn't tell him much, it merely had his name written in a heavy, messy scrawl on the top. He was still somewhat cautious, but curiousity was quickly winning out, so he untied the package, removed the paper, and opened the heavy cardboard box. Within was a sheet of folded parchment, another, unevenly shaped object wrapped in bright pink tissue paper, and an envelope. The bright pink was a clue, as was the familiar smell that wafted through the air once the package was open. He blinked at that realization, _I know what Tonks smells like. Odd. Bet she'd get a kick out of teasing me for it though._ Another thought followed quickly on the heels of that. _How does she keep getting in my room, anyway?_ He decided to start with the parchment, which was obviously a letter.

_**Happy Birthday Harry!**_

_**Yes, that's right, I've been here again. Don't you go bragging to Ron and all your Gryffindor pals about the sexy older woman who keeps sneaking round to your bedroom, or I might just stop. Now that the warning's out of the way, let me start properly with an apology. **_

_**I'm so very sorry I had to miss your birthday, Harry. Both bosses have been keeping me even busier than usual lately, and I think the older one might be doing so just because he's picked up somewhere we've been chumming around a bit. See what comes of hacking off the powerful? Now you don't get the pleasure of my scenti- scintal- scintull- wonderfully pleasant company. Still, I don't hold it against you. I would've liked to have been there today, but since I couldn't, I knew I just had to get your presents to you. What with no twins and with that boring old jerk Remus Lupin around, I bet you could use some cheering up.**_

_**And who, my dear Harry, but your favorite Auror could you count on to do that better?**_

_**There were two things I knew I definitely wanted to get you for your big sixteen, and since I just couldn't bring myself to decide, I went with both! There's another little note that goes with each, but I wanted to warn you not to open the envelope if you've still got a belly full of cake and pudding, it would be a tragedy, it would. I hope you enjoy, and I hope you're smiling. If you're not by now, I guarantee you will be once you open the envelope. **_

_**I doubt there will be much chance to see eachother next month, since I hear you're being kept under pretty tight restrictions, but, believe it or not, I can almost guarantee we'll be having plenty of chances to spend a little time and get in a little trouble once you're back in school. Curious? Waiting with baited breath to read why? Too bad, cos I'm not telling!**_

_**Until then, take care of yourself, alright mate? I worry about you more than a bit. Just remember, there may be a whole bucketload of shite being dumped down across Britain right now, but that's minor stuff meant for the Ministry and the others to be dealing with. We'll tell you when we need Harry Potter, I promise. For now, you just try to have fun where you can get it and relax as much as possible. **_

Harry blinked and then laughed as he reached the bottom of the page. Rather than a "sincerely" or even a "love," Tonks had given herself a rather large space under her writing and left a stunningly bright red kiss mark there, obviously having put on enough lipstick for six normal women to get a properly comedic effect out of it. Underneath that, in an extremely feminine and curled hand that didn't at all match the rest of the letter, she'd signed it "Dora."

Harry folded the letter up and contemplated it for a moment. If Ron or Hermione noticed the way it had been signed they'd probably get entirely the wrong idea. However, he didn't want to get rid of it either, this was the sort of thing that would be good to have around the next time he started feeling like everyone had forsaken him(and a time like that seemed to be looming in the near future). Quietly, he went over to his trunk, opened it, and tucked the letter away in the bottom, between the pages of an old Defence textbook. That safely done, he returned to the bed to look at his presents, feeling a bit nervous. With Tonks, there was no knowing _what_ to expect.

Though he felt he'd safely digested enough to handle a blast-ended skrewt if necessary, he decided to start on the oddly shaped bundle. Carefully he unwrapped the tissue paper and moved the wandlight over the object within to examine it. It was a pair of goggles. Not the ugly, clunky sort he'd worn through years of Herbology, but the sort of smooth, aerodynamic looking dragon-hide and domed glass affairs that offered full peripheral vision that he'd seen some professional Quidditch players wearing, and lusted after. The one time he'd really considered buying a pair, he'd been staggered by the price, as well as discouraged by the knowledge he'd be essentially blind in them since they wouldn't fit on over glasses.

Harry smiled at Tonks' effort, though it was somewhat tempered by the embarassment of knowing how much these must have set her back. He noticed a rolled up bit of parchment in one of the lenses and took it out to read.

_**I thought of these when Hermione was telling me about you having to spell your glasses to keep them from fogging up during rainy Quidditch matches(how do you keep the blasted things on in high winds to begin with?). So when I went to Kwality Kwidditch Supplies, I was positively shocked that they wouldn't make them to eyeglass prescriptions. Gits have no idea what their market is, do they? **_

_**Your prescription wasn't that hard to get hold of, though. So I managed to pop the lenses out of this pair, brought them to one of the specialty sporting shops in the muggle side of London, and asked if they could mill me some for my friend's dad's old kit. They were a little put-off by the idea, but the customer is always right, especially when she's cute and flirty. The man offered to make them so they'd be light-reactive, but once he explained to me how it worked I decided it'd be a bad idea(I'm getting to why, just keep reading.) They did, however, have a coating to keep them from fogging up and help keep water from beading and streaking too much, as well as one to cut down on glare. I was also fascinated that they've got these completely unbreakable lenses, and wizards think **__**they**__** can do anything!**_

_**Once I had the right ones I brought the whole job back to Kwality Kwidditch to get things put back in right, and it was almost done. **_

_**Now, you're asking how is that only almost done? And why were the light-reactive lenses a bad idea? I'll tell you why. These aren't meant just for playing Quidditch in, Harry. Mad Eye goes on about your wand-safety habits, but it seems like I'm the only one in the world who's ever realized one summoning spell could leave you effectively blind. Not to mention just tripping at the wrong time and breaking or losing your specs. Now, you'll look a bit of an arse if you start wearing them all the time, but keep them on you, or close at hand, and if you see a spot of trouble coming up, put them on. If some smart(ha ha) Death Eater has the same idea I did, he's in for a bit of a shock. **_

_**Now, the almost done bit. There were a whole range of spells that can be put on glasses if you know where to take them(mostly Knockturn Alley and a few other neighborhoods I won't tell you the names of, you don't need to know). I flirted with the idea of giving you Mad Eye goggles, or night vision, or the Dweomer Gaze(It'd be pretty seeing magic, wouldn't it?), but I figured that would all just get confusing and be a bunch of crap you wouldn't need but once. And as far as the sort of lenses that darken in bright light went, two words - spell flash. So instead I settled for a simple but effective anti-summoning jinx. Now, Voldemort or.. some other powerful wizard... could probably still manage to push past it and get them off you if he really tried, but any of the run of the mill bastards you'll be fighting might as well wave their dick in their hands as their wand as far as getting Harry Potter's goggles is concerned.**_

_**Besides, they'll make you look a bit like a superhero from the muggle comics, won't they? Very dashing Harry, very dashing indeed.**_

Harry finished reading the note, and was grinning. He needed to get past looking too much at the surface Tonks and remember that in her own right she was quite nearly as brilliant as Hermione and had the Auror training on top of it. Unable to resist, he pulled his glasses off, set them aside, and slipped the goggles on over his head. They fit like a dream. He turned his head from side to side, looking at objects at different distances, and nodded appreciatively, they were perfect. It was a little dizzying, since for the first time he could actually see more than just a blur from the corner of his eye, but he figured he'd get used to it eventually.

He kept the goggles on, not wanting to stop playing with his new present just yet, and cautiously opened the envelope. Inside there were four photographs, each with a note at the bottom written in Tonks' now familiar hand.

The first picture was of Aunt Petunia and had been taken outside the house at Number 4, Privet Drive. The bony woman was pacing from one end of her garden to the other, throwing her arms around her in frustration, and from the way her mouth was moving, the flush on her face, and the tears running from her eyes, she was in hysterics. The reason why was obvious. Her beloved garden was like a war-zone. Every plant that had not been completely torn to shreds had been uprooted, the perfect rows had been dug across in zig-zags, and deep holes had been dug at random intervals, it looked like an entire herd of rabbits had spent a month having their way with it.

_**Oh dear. Someone seems to have tried to put out food for the knarl. Did you know there was one in your yard? Well, there is now. Quite a shame. Quite a shame indeed.**_

Harry grinned and spent a moment longer enjoying his aunt's discomfiture before putting the picture aside and moving on to the next. This one was of his dear Uncle Vernon. Or more precisely, of Vernon and his beloved company car. Vernon's state was, if it was possible, even worse than Petunia's. His face was bright purple and even though there was no sound, Harry could tell the man was screaming fit to shake the heavens. The car, on the other hand, was parked at the side of what appeared to be quite a busy highway, belching a column of black smoke, thicker around than Vernon himself, from under the hood. Harry looked at Tonks' note and had to bite his hand to restrain the sort of maniacal cackle that would have worried his hosts.

_**Dursley struck me as the sort who would be overly fond of his car. For such big and heavy objects they're awful delicate, aren't they? I remember this one time a friend of mine put oil in the coolant tank of one of the Ministry cars, it looked rather a lot like this. I imagine putting transmission fluid in the oil tank and coolant in the transmission tank would only have made things worse, don't you think?**_

Harry's restrained laughter was quickly cut off by sheer disgust as he moved to the next to last photo, this, unlike the others, was a simple muggle photograph, not of the moving, wizarding variety. It was Dudley, but more of Dudley than Harry had ever wanted to see. His cousin, fully(well, more than fully) grown, was done up in a nappy, a bonnet, and cloth baby shoes. In one hand he held an over-sized rattle, in the other a bottle. This was mildly funny, of course, but the awfulness of the image far outweighed the humor. He read the note quickly, wanting to get it over with so he could burn the blasted thing.

_**This is quite possibly the most embarassing transformation I've ever made. You owe me one, Harry.**_

So it wasn't Dudley then. Harry was puzzled as to why Tonks would think he'd want such a picture though, did she think his sense of humor was that completely odd? He shrugged and flipped to the last photo, his eyes widening after a moment. The setting was familiar, the park in Little Whinging. The players were familiar as well. A dozen boys of various sizes and shapes, each one well known to Harry by the amount of times they'd beaten on him as he'd grown up. It was Dudley's gang.

They were all laughing, a few of them were even on the ground or propped up against something, unable to stay standing due to the hilarity. They were also passing something around. Dudley approached, his mouth moved, and the laughter only got worse. He reddened, snatched whatever was being passed around, and held it up to look at. It was, of course, the photo. Harry watched as Dudley went dark purple, then bone white, then beet red, all in the course of a few seconds, then turn and run, tears streaming down his face. The boys were now pointing at Dudley, and their laughter had only redoubled as he ran.

_**Teenage boys are such a heartless lot, aren't they? This is the sort of thing a young lad never lives down, I think.**_

Harry enjoyed the image as it repeated, then realized there was another note on a sheet of parchment behind it. Eagerly, he read.

_**Well, that's what the Dursleys' month has been like. Seems our favorite family is going through a bad patch, doesn't it? I do hope things even out for them, of course, but you know what they say... When it rains, it pours.**_

_**Happy Birthday Harry**_

Harry was shaking his head, still grinning and repressing a laugh. He went over the photos a few more times, then tucked them away in other pages of the same book that held Tonks' birthday letter. He had enjoyed the photos heartily, but more, he was relieved by the knowledge that Tonks had found a way to exercise her need for vengeance on the Dursleys in a fashion that wouldn't get her in trouble or get her sacked. Once he had the evidence secreted away, he decided it really was time for bed. Remembering Tonks' advice, instead of removing his goggles he pulled them down and let them hang from his neck. It felt right somehow, wearing something from Tonks, something from Sirius, and something from Scrimgeour.

His mood much better than it had been only twenty minutes prior, Harry Potter nestled himself in bed and quickly fell asleep. His dreams were disorganized, though not unpleasant, featuring things like Dudley being put through what he'd made Harry suffer as a child, Harry growing up as a Weasley, and attending the Auror Academy. None of this was anything out of the ordinary, and all was far preferable to nightmares of loss and visions of Voldemort. The only thing that was unusual was a strangely familiar scent, threaded through all his nighttime wanderings.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

**Author's Notes:** Well, this was turning into the chapter that wouldn't end. Since I wanted to get something published today, as I probably won't be doing much writing tomorrow, I actually clipped out about a third of what I had written. On the one hand, that means this chapter is a lot shorter than it was going to be. On the other hand, it means you'll get the next one either tomorrow or the day after.

Yes, I listed a bunch of presents, but some of them will be important later on. Have fun guessing and yelling at me about which. Yes, I gave Harry the Head of the House of Black. This will no doubt cause some discord, but it's going to be useful, and I'm neither going to overdo it or give him an avalanche of stuff he doesn't really need and will never use.

The characters are getting kind of odd on me. I'm very much hitting Stephen King's zone where they're writing themselves, not always how I want them to.

Ron: I'm not a big Ron fan, in fact I expected some definite Ron bashing to slip out at some point during the course of this story. Young Mr. Weasley, however, seems to have decided he wants to be a protagonist, and won't hear any argument to the contrary.

Fleur: A lot of you were a little disappointed in my Harry/Fleur interaction in the last chapter. I'm not writing to cater to you guys, but Fleur seems to have taken it to heart. She's showing some of that depth J.K.R. only ever really hinted at, but she has no plans to become a harpy or an amazon

Ginny: This is bothering me a little bit. I _like_ Ginny, but all I'm getting from her is a bit of picking at Ron and drooling over Harry. I'll see if I can't persuade her to straighten out her act a bit.

Click the review button and tell me what you thought of this one, and if it felt like it left off oddly, remember that that's because it was coming close on being 20,000 words and still only felt about halfway done.


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